


Delirium

by acityofsleeplesspeople



Category: Victorious
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 37,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acityofsleeplesspeople/pseuds/acityofsleeplesspeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She's always with me, even though she's long gone, and of all the mistakes I've made in my life- and, trust me, there are more than a few- losing her is the one that I just cannot seem to forgive myself for."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loss

 

 

I live in an old beat-up Airstream in only the shittiest of trailer parks, just south of Hollywood. I don't know my neighbors, and I don't think I care to. Judging from the sounds that come from their trailers every night- sounds of fighting, clinking glass, and screams of hallucination from whatever street drug they're on- they aren't exactly the best caliber of people. But then again, neither am I. Not anymore, anyway.

I work as a singing waiter at a rundown coffee shop in the worse part of Hollywood, serenading pretty girls, striking poses as I hand them their order. Anything for a tip. Sometimes they slip me their numbers, hastily scribbled on a paper napkin ring or the back of their check, and sometimes I call them, invite them over for whispered compliments and breathless encounters on my thrift store couch , and when they leave I never speak to them again. It's nothing personal. I just can't. And I still haven't figured out why that is.

This isn't at all how I imagined my life playing out- this isn't how things are supposed to be. I was the golden boy of my high school; I starred in every show, had the teachers fawning over me and girls practically fainting every time I gave them a second glance. I was meant to get out of this place, go far and be somebody, but, dammit, even the best laid plans get fucked up beyond repair without you even noticing, and by the time you do, it's too late to do anything about it. You can't will something into reality just because you want it, and that whole 'hard work will pay off' thing is bullshit.

My parents have long since given up on me, and stopped the weekly phone calls where they'd ask hopefully about what I was up to and then not even bother to mask the disappointment in their voices when the answer was always the same: nothing. I can't even remember the last time we spoke. My birthday? Maybe Christmas. It doesn't matter- all of my days blur together anyway, a mess of dirty coffee cups and unpaid bills and auditions that never amount to anything, callbacks that never come, connections always missed and always finding myself in the right place at the wrong time. I'm only twenty-two years old, but I can't help but feel like my fate is sealed, like I'm destined to live paycheck to paycheck in this crappy RV, doomed to a life of anonymity like I'd always feared I would be.

I swear I see her sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, black curls cascading down her back and light glinting off the studs in that hideous belt she always insisted on wearing. I know she isn't there. I know she's off being Broadway's latest darling, making a name for herself like I always knew she would, like I'd always intended to do for myself.

But still, I keep her around, even though I know I shouldn't. I can still smell her on my plaid shirts and feel her lips against mine, kissing me in the way only she knew how to do. I can hear the purr in her voice when she'd whisper in my ear, and I can feel the warmth of her smile, rare though it was. She's always with me, even though she's long gone, and of all the mistakes I've made in my life- and, trust me, there are more than a few- losing her is the one that I just cannot seem to forgive myself for.

* * *

**Author's Note**

So I woke up in the middle of the night last night with this sudden inspiration for this story, and I couldn't go back to sleep until I'd outlined it. This is going to be another multichap, and I hope to update every week.

I hope you enjoyed it! Comments would be awesome. 


	2. Gone

Not a day passes that I don't find myself thinking of her. Sometimes it's the customers that walk into the coffee shop- sometimes, at first glance, they look like her. Like Jade. And I get my hopes up in spite of myself, only to have them shattered when I take a second look and realize just how different this particular girl is from her- her eyes aren't blue enough, she's too tall, her skin is just a slightly different shade, there's no nautical star tattooed on her right forearm- and I feel an all too familiar wave of disappointment start to sink down on me, and I kick myself for getting my hopes up at all.

Days pass. Weeks. Maybe even months, and still she's with me, invading my thoughts and breaking my heart all over again due to the simple fact that she's just not there, no matter how much I might want her to be. I miss her terribly, and I know it's entirely my fault that she's gone, that she picked up and left for New York without telling anyone or ever looking back. I drove her to it. I know I did, with my lame excuses and broken promises, not to mention the cruel words and insults I'd fling at her during arguments, things carefully crafted to bruise her and stick in her mind. She tolerated all my bullshit for as long as she could, saying that she loved me no matter what and that she was determined to try and make this thing work. But one day, I got jealous and worked up over something stupid, and I said things to her that were just inexcusable, and that to this day I can't bear to repeat because I'm so ashamed. I'll never forget the look of shock and pain on her face during that last fight; she couldn't have looked more hurt even if I'd kicked her. I was backpedalling frantically, trying to stammer out an apology, watching helplessly as her bright blue eyes grew even brighter with tears.

"Jade, baby, I'm so sorry, I love you-"

She swiped her fist across her eyes, dragging a blurry line of melted mascara along her temple. "I know you do, Beck," she whispered, folding her arms across her chest. "And I love you, too. With all my heart. And that's just the problem." She turned and walked out of the RV, combat boots clunking on the metal floor, and for the second time in my life I heard her start her car and drive away, and for the second time, I didn't go after her.

I didn't get a second chance that time, either. I didn't get a song sang to me in front of the entire school before we kissed and made up. The next day, I found a box of plaid shirts and love letters waiting by the tree outside, and when I tried to call her, she'd blocked my number. I called all of our friends, desperately trying to find out where she was and if she was okay, finally getting answers from Tori, of all people.

"She came by last night and she was pretty upset," she began. I heard her sigh into the phone. "She wouldn't tell me what happened, just that you two'd had a fight and she'd finally had enough. I've never seen her like that before. You really broke her, dude. Oh, and she had a suitcase with her, and asked me to drive her to the airport, so I did."

I swallowed hard. "So... she's gone."

"Yeah. She's gone."

I felt my heart stop.

"Thanks, Tori," I choked out, running a hand through my hair. "And if you hear from her, um... just, let me know, okay? I just want to know that she's all right."

"Okay, Beck. Bye."

It's been almost a year since that phone call, and now I know where she went: New York. According to Tori, within her first month there, she landed some ensemble work in  _Wicked_ , as well as some modeling jobs at Macy's. Nowadays, she's worked her way up to playing Nessarose in  _Wicked,_ and she's Elphaba's understudy, too. I've seen some illegally recorded videos of the nights she's played Elphaba, and she truly is incredible. Performing was always extremely important to her, and it definitely suits her. Apparently, she even has an agent and is looking into making the jump from stage to screen. Pretty impressive stuff for a girl who's only twenty-two years old. I always knew she'd be famous, even when we were in high school. That kind of talent is something rare, and when someone has it, it's like electricity- you can just feel it radiating from them.

One night, I'm working late at the coffee shop, and I'm the only one there, standing behind the counter making a fresh pot of decaf, half-listening to the television blaring from the corner. "And in other news, Broadway actress Jadelyn West has officially been reported missing."

At the mention of her name, I feel my blood run cold, and I slowly turn to face the screen, a knot forming in my stomach.

"Ms. West was last seen leaving the Gershwin Theatre after a matinee performance of  _Wicked_  last Sunday afternoon," the reporter continues. "She did not show up for the show the following Tuesday, nor any performances scheduled for this week. All attempts to contact her have been fruitless, and there is little evidence of foul play." I grip the counter, forcing breaths through my teeth in a hiss. "If anyone has any information on Ms. West or her whereabouts, you are asked to call the New York Crimestoppers hotline immediately." With that, a picture of Jade pops up on the screen. I fall to my knees. She's even more beautiful than I'd remembered, but there was an intensity behind her gaze, a sort of deep pain that I feel sure I'd put there.

Jade is missing.

She'd left Hollywood because of me, and now she's missing. And no one has any idea where she is.

She could be raped, or in a torture chamber, or dead, even.

I start crying deep, ugly, completely non-manly sobs, curling into the fetal position on the sticky tile floor.

She's missing.

This is all my fault.

* * *

**Author's Note**

So here's the next chapter! 

I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are welcome and appreciated!


	3. Realizations

I close up the coffee shop early, even though I'm not supposed to and could get in some serious shit for doing so. I stomp outside, gravel crunching under my heavy boots, and climb into my ancient pickup truck. It takes some coaxing to get it to start, but it does, finally roaring to life after a few feeble groans of protest. I zoom down the freeway, ignoring every single speed limit and traffic sign, hoping- no,  _praying_ for some asshole cop to have the nerve to pull me over. The entire way home, I see nothing but Jade, her face branded into my memory, even though I wish that it wasn't, that I could just forget her, but I can't. I drive and see the way she always smiled like she had some sort of secret, with the light glinting off of the stud in her brow. I see the way her huge eyes always looked different every time I saw them, like they just couldn't decide which color it was they wanted to be. I see her, feel her as I aggressively maneuver the car, and what makes it even harder to bear than usual is that, this time, I don't even have the security of knowing where she is. Because she's missing.

I stomp the gas pedal and Jade flashes in front of my eyes.

I finally pull into the trailer park, yanking the keys from the ignition and running a hand through my hair, forcing myself to breathe as I try to ignore the rising feelings of guilt and worry that are tangling together in the middle of my chest and making my blood run cold. As I sit there, gripping my keys, pressing the cold metal into my palm, I feel a sudden and distinct wave of nausea flood over me. My stomach starts seizing, but I manage to open the truck door and tumble onto my knees in the grass just in time for me to throw up all over the ground, my entire body shaking and tears pricking in the corners of my eyes.

I sit back on my heels, swiping at my face with the back of my hand. I swallow, hard, forcing myself to regain my composure long enough to pull my phone out of the pocket of my worn jeans. Without really thinking about it, my thumb punches her number in the keypad and I press my forehead against my fist, preparing to hear that all-too-familiar automated message notifying me that my number has been blocked.

It takes me a moment to realize that the message never comes.

Instead, I hear several rings before the voicemail picks up with a click. My breath catches in my throat as I hear Jade's voice for the first time in over a year.

"Hi, you've reached Jade West. I'm not here right now, but leave me a message, and I'll call you back as soon as I can. Thanks. Bye."

I can't help but scoff a little- it hardly even sounds like her. Her agent must have put her up to it, I figure. Her voicemail prompts have never sounded that cordial before- they were always much more menacing, more full of the anger and bitterness I'd always found myself having to really work to push past and get at the softness and warmth I knew she held fast behind her stony exterior. I've always understood her. I know that much for sure, but one thing I don't get is why she'd unblocked my number. Was it an accident? Maybe she'd done it on purpose- disappeared of her own accord because she knew I'd come looking for her?

I shake my head. No. I'm giving myself way too much credit. Jade might be cryptic, but she'd never do something that impulsive and stupid- not when she had so much going for her, at least.

I feel my panic start to rise again, my heart racing and my breath quickening, so I go ahead and leave her a message: "Hey, Jade... um, it's Beck. Um... I know you probably don't want to talk to me, I just-" I clear my throat. "Look, baby, people are worried about you. Real worried. So if you get this, please just let me know you're okay, and I promise I'll never bother you again. Um... bye." I hang up the phone and toss it on the ground beside me, twisting blades of grass between my fingers and listening to crickets chirp from the scrubby bushes that surround the park.

It's strange how long you can go without seeing a person, and yet they still have a huge impact on your life. I mean, I've carried her in my heart day in and day out for almost the past year, but I hadn't realized just how much of a hold she had on me until tonight. It's made me even more determined to resolve things with her, to fix us both to the point that we could finally get on with our lives.

I sigh in resignation and heave myself up off the ground, slamming the truck door closed and trudging wearily to my trailer. There's no doubt in my mind that I still love her. I just wish it hadn't taken her moving across the country and disappearing into thin air for me to realize that.

* * *

**Author's Note**

This chapter's kinda filler, but I think it's necessary, and I hope you like it!

Reviews make my heart sing. Just saying.

 


	4. Decisions

Once inside the trailer, I try to make myself a pot of coffee to calm my nerves, but my hands are shaking so hard that I spill the grinds all over my scratched laminate countertop, so I give up and sit on my bed, staring at the wall for a long time until I finally snap out of my reverie and realize how just late it is. I force myself to halfheartedly brush my teeth and climb under the scratchy covers, tossing and turning for what feels like hours. Finally I drift off, and I sleep fitfully, dreaming of blue eyes and dial tones and flashes of light.

I wake with a start, her name escaping my lips before I can stop myself. Without really thinking about it, I grab my phone from the overturned bucket I use as a nightstand and punch in her number. I listen nervously, picking at the skin on my thumb as it again it rings through to voicemail, but I hang up without leaving another message and instead dial Tori's phone. It rings twice before she picks up.

"Hey, Beck."

I'm not stupid. I can hear the edge of suspicion in her voice, in the overly casual tone that she's using with me.

"How's it hanging, dude?" she asks.

"Look, Tori, I really don't have time for small talk, okay?" I snap.

My words come out rough, guttural, dripping with irritation, and when she speaks again, I can tell that I've pissed her off.

"Well, aren't we just full of sunshine and smiles today?" she chirps, not bothering to mask her sarcasm.

"Tori," I sigh, resting my forehead in my palm, "Jade's missing."

A sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line nearly deafens me. "What do you  _mean,_ she's  _'missing'?"_

I can tell Tori's concerned- I know she's always had more of a soft spot for Jade than she likes to let on, and I'm sure the two of them got even closer after what happened between us. I clear my throat and sit up, one hand picking at the pills of lint that cover my threadbare blanket. "I  _mean_  she's missing. She's gone. I saw it on the news when I was at the coffee shop last night- she hasn't shown up for work in days, and no one can seem to find her. I've tried calling her, but all I get is voicemail-"

"Wait," Tori cuts me off. "She unblocked your number? When the  _hell_ did that happen?"

"I don't know!" I continue impatiently. "Look, I'm getting really worried. Have you heard from her lately? Any idea where she could be?"

There's a crackling noise as Tori sighs into the phone; she must have it pinned to her ear with her shoulder. "Yeah, I talked to her last week. She seemed kind of out of it, to be honest. She told me that she's been under a lot of stress lately and hasn't been getting much sleep, and she thinks that's what's making her have trouble remembering her lines." Tori pauses for a moment before continuing. "I thought that was kind of weird, because Jade's always had it together with things like that; I remember this play we were in together junior year- she had her part down before anybody else.

"Anyway, she seemed kinda... scared, I think. I can't be sure, because you know that's not like her at all. And she kept saying  _'I don't know what's wrong with me.'_ God, she must have said that a good ten times. I did my best to calm her down- told her she was just overworking herself, and maybe she should let her understudy take over for a few days so she could take it easy and get some rest. And I said to let me know if she needed anything, and she said she would. And that was the last I heard from her." Tori's voice cracks, and I can hear her start crying. "I feel terrible. She told me something was wrong, and I just blew her off! God, Beck, this is all my fault-"

"Shh," I soothe. I'm still processing everything she's told me. "Tori.  _Tori._ Listen. It's gonna be alright, okay? I'll-" I make a split-second decision, but I know it's the right one. "I'll find her."

"You will?" she sniffles. "How are you gonna do that?"

I shift my weight uncomfortably. "Um... I guess I'm going to New York."

* * *

I finally hang up with Tori, but not before she makes me promise to keep her in the loop. Next, I call my parents and explain everything to them, which takes awhile because I'm so worked up at this point that my words keep tripping over each other. They agree, with surprisingly little protest, to lend me the money I'll need to get to New York- my parents always really liked Jade, and they're appropriately concerned when I tell them the news that she's missing. It's pretty widespread knowledge that I'm essentially the person who drove her away from California in the first place, and I can tell that my mom and dad definitely agree with that.

"This could well be your last chance, Beckett Adam," my mom hisses into the phone. I feel my stomach turn. My mother only whips out the whole first/middle name combination when I'm in some seriously deep shit. "If you do find Jadelyn, you are to do right by her, understand? That girl's put up with enough of your crap. Don't put her through any more."

My dad's admonition is a little more blunt: "Beck, if you screw this up again- I love you, you know I do, but I swear to God I'll kick your ass like a little boy, because that's exactly what you've been behaving like these days."

"Got it, guys," I say wearily.

"We mean it, son," my dad says sternly. "She left because of you, so now it's on your head to go and find her."

"Honestly, Beck," my mom wheedles, "She was such a  _nice_ girl, she was one of the best things that ever happened to you, you know-"

"I know, I fucking  _know,_ okay?" I exclaim, cutting them off. They fall silent. "And I know if, God forbid, anything  _has_ happened to her, it's basically my fault." I feel my eyes start to well up as I think of all the horrible things that could have gone down- kidnapping. Rape. Or- oh God, murder. I shake my head, forcing the thoughts to retreat. It's not good to think like that, to have a negative attitude when I'm about to travel all the way across the country to look for the girl I loved. Love. It's not going to benefit anyone, least of all her.

"Look, I'm sorry for yelling at you guys," I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose between my forefinger and thumb. "I'm just really worried about her."

"We know, sweetheart," my mom says, her voice softening into a much more comforting tone. "Don't we, dear?" My dad grunts his assent from the extension. "Go find her, Beck, and make sure she's all right. We love you."

"I'll find her," I assure them before hanging up the phone. I grab an old duffel bag from under my bed and start haphazardly throwing things into it- a few shirts, some jeans, a belt. As I pack, I repeat those three words to myself again and again, like a mantra; like an affirmation; like a promise; like a prayer.

"I'll find her."

* * *

**Author's Note**

I know my chapters are ridiculously short, and I could definitely make them longer, but for this story I feel like the shorter ones are more appropriate. So I hope that's okay. :) Also, I have several chapters written and waiting to be typed, so updates should be more frequent for the time being!

Please let me know what you think of the story. I do appreciate it.

 


	5. Encounters

One of the many cool things about living in California is how incredibly accessible everything is, especially travel. People are always coming and going; places to be, people to see, that kind of thing. This basically means a) that the airports do one hell of a business, and b) that they have tickets to almost anywhere you'd want to go pretty much any time of day, including (luckily for me) a nonstop flight from Los Angeles to JFK in New York.

I put my ticket on my debit card and check my duffel bag before I head into the terminal. I quickly find my gate and check in, but I don't sit down or anything, because I'm still pretty early. I wander around for a bit to kill time, finding a little kiosk where I buy a soda and a cheap, murder-mystery paperback that I honestly have no intention of reading. Soon enough, they're calling for my gate to board, so I follow the herd of people down the little detachable hallway out onto the plane.

I've just gotten myself settled into my seat (row 22, aisle) and I'm examining a SkyStore catalog, like the ones Cat was so obsessed with a few years ago, when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

"Beck? Hey, Beck Oliver? Oh my God, man, is that you?"

I turn around and see that the voice's owner has arrived beside my elbow, grinning down at me. I let out a chuckle of surprise and jump to my feet.

"Andre!" I exclaim, pulling him in for a quick hug and a slap on the back. "Oh my God! How the hell you been, man?"

"I could ask you the same question," he replies, playfully swatting me on the arm. "I'm just kiddin', bro. Yeah, I came home from school for a visit- hadn't seen my grandma in awhile- but I've got finals next week, so I'm heading on back to good old NYU."

"NYU?" I repeat, impressed. "I didn't know. What are you doing there?"

"Studyin' at Tisch, man. Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music. Gonna rule that record industry with an iron fist, you know." He laughs. "So-"

At that moment, a flight attendant comes on over the intercom, cutting him off and startling both of us. "All passengers, please, take your seats, and make sure your seat belts are securely fastened, your table trays are locked and stowed, and that your seat backs are in the upright and locked position. The pilot is preparing for takeoff." The speakers crackle a bit as they're turned off, and Andre gestures to the seat beside me. "Mind if I hang with you? Long flight to be by yourself."

"Oh, of course," I reply, turning so he can edge past me and sit down. I drop into my seat and slide the belt into place across my lap. We sit quietly as the safety video plays and the flight attendants walk through the cabin, checking that overhead bins are shut tight. Once we've taken off, Andre faces me once more, and his eyes full of questions. "So, uh, Beck, why'd you say you're going to New York again?"

"I didn't," I say, running my hand through my hair. "Jade."

He nods, a look of concern fading into his face and masking his normally cheerful features.

"Right," he begins, clearing his throat. "Um... look, man, don't take this the wrong way, but- when y'all broke up, she was pretty tore up about it. Showed up on my doorstep one night, suitcase in hand, eyes all red, hair all wild, looking like she hadn't slept in weeks. I let her stay for awhile, until she got everything sorted out and found herself an apartment. Still see her, though. Sometimes we get together and catch up on her days off, and I've seen the show a bunch of times. She gets my tickets comped for me; says it's the least she can do for her living off me for that little bit. Not that she was much trouble- she pretty much kept to herself, and that girl eats like a bird. Hardly knew she was there half the time, except for the fact that she always had that dang coffee pot goin'." He chuckles, shaking his head. "I keep telling her she's more than repaid me, but you know how stubborn she can be."

I nod. Andre pauses, taking a breath.

"Couple weeks ago, I saw the show on a night she got to play one of the main witches. You know, the green one. I can't remember her name. And, lemme tell you, she's _good_ , Beck. Real good. Always has been. You know that better than anyone. And now she's... she's finally got this new life, and- again, don't take this the wrong way- you might not fit into it."

I nod again. He shrugs, eyeing me carefully. "Jade and I, we've gotten pretty tight. She spent a whole lot of time being all kinds of messed up over you, and it took her awhile to get her shit together. I don't know if I wanna see a repeat of all that." He exhales, twisting a dreadlock between his fingers. "I'm just telling you, 'cos you're both my friends, you know? I want y'all to be happy, and I'm honestly not sure if it'll be with each other."

I'd be lying if I said Andre's words didn't sting me a bit, but I can't fault him for them. But... "Wait a minute, you think I'm just going there to try and make up with her?"

"Yeah. I mean- that's what I figured," he says sheepishly. "Sweep her off her feet, the whole bit."

"You don't know?" I ask.

Andre looks up at me, clearly confused. "What do you mean? Know what?"

I feel a knot forming in my chest, so I press my fist against my sternum like I'm trying to rub it away. Even though I've known about Jade for a couple of days, it doesn't make the news any easier to stomach. It's not like it's the kind of thing you can really get used to. "Andre," I begin, "I don't really know how to tell you this, but- well- Jade's missing. She has been since about Saturday, I think. And no one knows where she is."

His face is troubled. "What, someone kidnap her or something?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so. The news report I saw said that there's no evidence of 'foul play', whatever the hell that means." There's a lump in my throat and my eyes are burning with the promise of tears, so I blink them back and take a long swig of my soda. "It's not like I'm expecting anything from her, you know, if they find her."  _If._ "I just- you're right. I've really fucked her over a lot of times in the past, and I know that. I was a complete ass. I just want to go there and make sure she's okay. And if she tells me to go to hell and that she never wants to see me again, then, _boom-"_ I snap my fingers. "I'm gone. I'll never bother her again. I just- I've gotta go look for her, dude. I've got to. For once, I'm gonna do the right thing for her. She deserves that."

Andre nods slowly. "You do what you gotta do, bro." He leans over me and flags down a passing flight attendant. "Two Bud Lights, please."

When she returns with the beers, he slips her a twenty and tells her to keep the change before opening one of the cans and handing me the other. I take it gratefully, popping the top open to sip at it. After a moment, I set it down, swiping the back of my hand across my lips.

I turn back to Andre, and find him looking at me again, his gaze serious, his beer looking almost comically small as he grips it in his big hand. "A toast," he intones solemnly. I quickly pick my own drink back up. "To my old friend, Beck, proving that there are, in fact, still decent people in this world." I smile as we clunk our cans together and take a long, cool pull from them.

We're quiet for a few minutes.

"You're a good guy, Beck," he says, slapping me on the shoulder.

I don't answer him at first. Instead, I reach up and hook the tip of my finger through the ring I've got hanging on a black silk cord around my neck. Well, it used to be black, anyway. It's more grey now, and it's starting to get a little frayed, the ring itself losing some of its cheap gold plating and starting to tarnish. But I've never taken this thing off, and I probably never will, no matter how old it gets- even after all this time, I know the feelings are still the same as the day I put it on.

"A good guy," I repeat, finally breaking the silence. I drain the last of my beer. "Not yet, man. But for the first time in my life, I'm sure as hell trying to be."

* * *

**Author's Note**

I'm really fond of this chapter. It was fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it.

Reviews are awesome, and if you leave one, it's like giving me a virtual lollipop. Just something to keep in mind.


	6. Flashback

FIVE YEARS AGO

It's almost Jade's and my first anniversary, and I know she's hoping I'll forget, but I won't- there's no way I could forget something this important. I've spent weeks planning for tomorrow night, even though I've been expressly informed not to get her anything: she tells me this over coffee after school in her most menacing tone of voice, clearly trying to show that she means business, but her intensity is completely ruined by the latte mustache smeared across her upper lip, which (much to my delight) she is entirely oblivious to.

"No presents. And  _no_ surprises, okay?" she demands.

"What makes you think I'd get you anything, anyway?" I tease, stealing her scone and taking a bite.

Jade stares me down, trying to get me with that death glare she's so fond of, but I just look at her, amused, until she finally gives up and relaxes her face. "I mean it, babe," she whines, fiddling with one of her rings. "I really-"

I cut her off with a kiss, and she doesn't even bother trying to stop me. I taste the coffee on her lips before I move upward to kiss her nose and forehead. Even though she complains that she hates that because I smear her makeup, I know she secretly likes it. I can tell by the way she sighs and how her skin reddens ever so slightly whenever I do so; a ripple effect set into motion by my lips. That's how it is with Jade and I, though it definitely took some work to get here. I bend back down to kiss her again, soft and slow, cupping her cool cheek in my hand so I can feel it blush with warmth. I know this ice queen of a girl melts only for me, and that's something I'll never take for granted.

Jade pulls away just a little bit, her nose brushing against mine. "Okay, maybe I can handle a  _little_  surprise," she concedes softly.

"That's my girl."

* * *

The next day, I show up to school with a single black rose and the largest coffee I could get from Jet Brew, which appears to be roughly the size of a trashcan. I'm leaning against her locker, absently tracing my thumb over one of the many pairs of scissors embedded in the door, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and find Jade looking up at me (even with her combat boots on, I've still got a good few inches on her), dressed in her favorite jeans and- oh, there's that plaid shirt I've been looking for.

"Hey, babe," I smile, leaning down to peck her on the cheek. "Happy anniversary."

Jade's expression shifts into one of her rare smiles, lighting up her entire face. "Those for me?" she asks, pointing to my hands.

"Absolutely," I say, presenting the gifts with a flourish.

Jade hefts the enormous coffee into one hand and carefully takes the flower with the other, her eyes widening as she examines it. "I don't think I've ever seen a black rose before."

"Neither had I," I reply, hooking a finger through her belt loop. "Do you like it?"

She nods slowly, and I can tell she really does. "It's beautiful, Beck. Thank you."

"That's not all I got you, though," I say, running a hand through my hair.

She looks at me curiously. "I thought we said no surprises."

"No,  _you_ said no surprises," I remind her. "And if you recall, you did, in fact, change your mind about that."

Jade's lower lip pushes out into a pout. "That's not fair. You tricked me."

"I did not!" I exclaim. "It's not like you exactly put up a fight, you know."

"Fine," she relents. "So where is it?"

"It's not here," I explain, tugging gently at the ends of her hair. "Tonight. Be ready at seven."

"But I-"

I place a finger over her lips. "Shh."

"But-"

"No buts, Jade."

She glowers at me as best as she can, but I can see the little glint in her eye, and that's how I know she's not really mad.

"You'll like it. I promise," I assure her, kissing her temple just as the first bell rings. "I gotta get to class, but I'll see you tonight, okay?"

Jade shrugs in resignation. "Okay."

* * *

Later that night, I arrive at her house, letting my car idle in her driveway while I wait for her. I take a moment to check my hair in the rearview mirror and adjust my tie, which keeps going crooked- I can't tie the damn thing right to save my life, and my mom hadn't been home to do it for me. When I finish, she's appeared on the porch, locking the front door behind her, and she looks so stunning that my mouth literally drops open.

Jade's wearing all black, of course, but she's traded her usual denim and studs for this sleeveless, lacy charcoal dress that hugs the curve of her waist and flares out at her hips, the hem coming to just above her knees. She's ironed all of the waves out of her hair so that it's pin straight and shiny, hanging almost to her elbows, the dyed pieces of pink and blue making it look like she's got ribbons woven into it or something. As she comes down the stairs, I can see she's even wearing heels instead of boots for once, and that she has her makeup all done, making her eyes seem impossibly huge against the smooth skin of her face.

She's absolutely perfect, and, by some miracle, she's mine.

Jade finally finishes making her way to the car and carefully climbs in, dropping her purse on the floor and neatly smoothing her skirt.

I can't stop staring at her, and after a moment, she notices.

"What?" she asks, and I can hear a little warble of uncertainty in her voice. "I can- I can go change-"

"You're beautiful," I say softly, the words slipping out without me meaning for them to. Jade turns beet red, and bites at the corner of her lip before she reaches over and takes my hand to lock her fingers with mine.

"Drive, you dork," she orders, and so I do, carefully navigating through the streets until I find a specific parking deck and drive inside to park. I climb out of the car and walk around to open her door for her, helping her to her feet and leading her toward the elevator.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

The elevator hums us back down to street level, and soon enough we're back on the sidewalk. I pull an envelope from the pocket of my jacket and hand it to her. She just looks at me quizzically.

"Seriously, baby, just open it." I say.

Jade slides her nail under the adhesive at the corner and tears it open, two rectangles of cardboard falling into her hand. She picks one of them up and inspects it carefully, struggling to read it in the fading evening light. " _Delirium_ ," she reads aloud. "Staples Center, Los Angeles, California. No flash photography..."

I watch her, waiting patiently as she pieces it together.

"Oh my  _God_ ," she breathes. "These- these  _aren't_  tickets to Cirque du Soleil?" I nod. "Wait,  _seriously_?" she asks, her tone sounding doubtful. "Come on, are we really going?"

"We are," I say. I can't help but laugh a bit at the pure delight dancing in her eyes. "We're going right now."

Jade's smiling broadly now, her grin almost taking over her entire face. "I've always wanted to see this," she sighs. "Whenever it'd come here on tour, I wanted to see it so bad, but it was always sold out by the time I got enough money saved up to buy the tickets." She shakes her head. "I can't believe you got me these. I can't believe you did this for me."

"Of course I did," I say sheepishly. "You're my girlfriend, and it's our anniversary. I... wanted to get you something special."

Jade's still beaming, staring down at the tickets in her palm. Suddenly, she turns and throws her arms around my neck and kisses me, eliciting a few whistles and some applause from the other people on the street. When she finally pulls away (and when I finally stop seeing stars, because damn, that kiss was good), I wind an arm around her waist, drawing her to my side. "Shall we, my lady?"

She nods, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "We shall."

* * *

After the show, I drive her back home, chuckling and agreeing with her as needed while she raves on and on about it. I've always known that Jade had a bit of a weakness for live entertainment, I've just never gotten to experience it with her. I've never seen her this animated, either, and though the tickets had been pricey, it was worth it to see her so happy.

When we arrive back at her house, I turn to get out and go open her door for her, but she just presses a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. "Not yet," she orders, bending down to rifle through her purse. It takes her a moment, but she finally surfaces with a box. "Um, I got you something, too."

I open the little package and shift aside a layer of tissue paper to shake its contents into my hand: a length of black silk cord, with a small metal ring knotted carefully in the center, its ends clipped together neatly. It looks something like a necklace. "Cool," I say, examining it further, and it  _is_  cool- I mean that. "Did you make this?"

Jade nods, tracing the cord with her fingertip. "Yeah, it's like... well, I guess it's kinda like my version of a promise ring or something. Doesn't matter. You don't have to label it. Anyway, this-" she gestures to the circle of metal, "-I know it looks like it , but it's not a ring. It's a washer. You know, for building things?" She looks at me expectantly, and I give a nod- surprisingly, I actually do know what a washer is. "Good. You use them to keep screws from coming out, because if they come out, it makes whatever you're building fall apart. And..." she blushes, eyeing me seriously. "You can't laugh, okay?"

"I won't laugh, babe, I promise," I assure her, patting her knee.

"Okay. Anyway, um... I thought it was sort of a cool, like, metaphor, you know, for us 'building' our relationship together, and, well..." Jade looks down at her hands and is quiet for a minute, like she can't decide if she's going to continue. "You're  _my_ washer, Beck," she says finally, taking the necklace from me and fastening it around my neck. "You... you keep me from falling apart."

I can do nothing but stare at her, completely awestruck by her words, and after a moment I notice that she has an identical necklace on, the washer resting against her sternum. She's eyeing me anxiously, and so I lean over and kiss her on the lips as tenderly as I possibly can.

"I love you," I say when we break apart. I've never said it before, because I didn't want to do it at the wrong time or move too fast, but now, I'm completely sure. I feel it, with every fiber of my being, and when I look at her I can't think of anything else. "I do. Jade, I love you."

She's been keeping her gaze down for quite some time now, and for a second I'm afraid I've scared her, but then she looks back up at me. If there'd been sparks there before, which I know there had been, then this was a roaring flame, her blue eyes blazing into mine with an unfathomable intensity.

"I love you, too."

* * *

**Author's Note**

I've always been a big fan of flashbacks, and I really wanted to incorporate one into this story. So now we know where the matching necklaces came from (and they seriously are washers, the costume designer from Victorious said so on Twitter) and we have our first mention of delirium. But it certainly won't be the last. ;)

I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you guys liked it, too. I would really love reviews on this one, because it's definitely one of my favorites so far and I'd love to hear you guys' thoughts. :)

 


	7. Cracked

The next thing I know, I'm being shaken awake. Really hard, might I add.

"Beck." Another shake. " _Beck._ Wake up, man. We're gonna be landing soon."

I try to hang onto the edge of sleep- I've haven't gotten very much over the past couple of days- but it's no use. I reluctantly open my eyes and stretch my arms out in front of me, my muscles a little sore from sitting for so long. "How long was I out?" I ask.

"Few hours," Andre replies, ripping open a little foil packet of peanuts.

"Sorry," I mutter. I feel bad; after all, he'd asked to sit with me so we wouldn't be bored, and then he'd just had to sit there and watch me sleep.

"It's all good," Andre assures me, popping a few peanuts into his mouth. "I figured you could use some rest. The dark circles aren't really working for you, dude. You look like you got punched in the face."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks."

Andre ignores me and eats another peanut. "So, what are you gonna do when we get there? What's your game plan?"

I groan and press my fists against my eyes and rub them, hoping that'll make me feel more awake. Even though I'd gotten a pretty lengthy nap, I hadn't slept very well at all, and I'm still a little groggy. "Plan?" I yawn. "I don't know, man. Thought I'd get a hotel, get settled in. Try and find out where Jade lives, check the scene, then maybe go by the theatre and see what I can find there." I shake my head. "I didn't really come here with an exact roadmap of things to do, you know- it just kinda happened."

Andre nods and holds the packet out to me. "Peanut?"

"No, thanks."

"You said you were gonna go by her apartment," he says, crunching thoughtfully. "Not sayin' that's a bad idea, but do you have any clue where that is?"

I shrug. "Figured I'd check in the phonebook or something."

"You really think a bigshot, up-and-coming Broadway girl like Jade's gonna have herself in the phonebook?" Andre laughs. "Hell no. She'd have stalkers on her doorstep on the daily- people take their theatre pretty serious out here. Nah, she took her listing out of that thing about a month after she moved here."

"How was I supposed to know that?" I snap back defensively. I sigh, roughly raking a hand through my hair. "Damn it to hell. So that's out. Now what am I gonna do?"

Andre looks at me, clearly amused. "Beck, you're my friend, and you know I love ya, but  _damn,_ you just really aren't the brightest bulb in the tanning bed."

"What in the hell is  _that_ supposed to mean?"

He just snickers, crinkling the empty peanut packet in his fist. "Girl stayed with me for about a month, and even now I still see her  _all the damn time,"_ he cackles, as if that's some kind of explanation.

I'm still puzzled for a moment before I finally understand what he's getting at. "Wait... you don't... you don't know where she lives, do you?" I ask excitedly.

"' _Know?'_ Come on. I helped her pick it out. I even know where she hides her damned spare key."

* * *

Andre can't come with me right now; he has to get back for a meeting or something at school, but before we get off the plane, he hands me a cocktail napkin on which he's scribbled Jade's address, his address, and his phone number in case I need anything. I thank him repeatedly as we grab our stuff and stumble on stiff legs into the arrival area, but he's having none of it.

"It's nothing, Beck," he insists, suddenly lunging forward and swinging his suitcase off the luggage carousel. "Just helping a friend out. I'm sure you'd do it for me, you know, if things were different. Just... do me a favor, alright?" His tone shifts from conversational into something much more serious as he asks this, and I can tell he clearly means business.

"Yeah, man, anything," I sputter, feeling a little nervous under his steely gaze.

"Find her." He commands, staring me down ominously.

I swallow hard, my resolve becoming stronger than ever. "I will."

* * *

After I go through security and make my way out of the terminal, I catch a cab outside and heave my bag into the backseat before I slide in beside it. Traffic is at an absolute standstill, so I take advantage of the few free moments I have and turn my phone back on. When it boots up, I see that I have a text from my mom, telling me that she's cashed in all the points she's got on her AmEx card to book me a room in a reasonably nice hotel near Midtown. I breathe a sigh of relief as I text her back, thanking her profusely- working at the coffee shop blows enough as it is, and the pay is even worse. Even with all my savings, I'm broke as shit, and I'd been expecting to stay in some cheap, rat-infested motel while I was here. Now, I don't have to do that, and it's a pretty big weight off my shoulders- now, I have one less thing to worry about, and I can focus on the real reason why I'm in New York.

It takes an eternity, but the cab finally starts moving, weaving its way through the crowded streets, and deposits me at my hotel. I pay my fare, making sure to leave a decent tip; working as a cabbie has to suck at least as badly as working at the coffee shop, if not worse- and head into the lobby.

A bell tinkles when I walk through the door, announcing my arrival.

"Good afternoon, sir, and welcome to Grisham Inn and Suites," a smiling girl greets me from behind the desk. Hmm. Weird. I don't think I've ever been called 'sir' before. "Do you have reservations?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so," I stammer, fiddling with the worn strap on my duffel bag. "I should, anyway. My mom was supposed to make them for me."

"Last name?"

"Oliver."

"All right, let me check that for you," she replies, beaming up at me. I push the corners of my mouth upward into an expression that I hope is at least vaguely cheerful, wanting her to know that her kindness isn't completely wasted on me. I drum my fingertips on the polished countertop while she clacks away at her keyboard. Looking around the lobby, I notice a large display against one wall, right across from the luggage carts. It's entirely devoted to brochures about various Broadway shows, its focal point a large, green-and-black leaflet. With a slight pang, I realize it's an advertisement for  _Wicked._ Shit. I turn back to the desk, swallowing the rising lump in my throat, and find the girl looking up at me expectantly.

"Oliver, you said?"

"Y-yeah."

"Beckett?"

"That's right," I say, not bothering to correct her with my nickname.

"Do you have ID on you, by any chance?"

"Yeah, of course," I reply. I fumble for my old leather wallet- which of _course_ was a present from Jade for my seventeenth birthday- and slide my driver's license out from under the protective plastic window to hand it to her. She takes it and examines it carefully.

"California," she muses, keying in some more information. "Well, you've certainly come a long way, haven't you?"

I nod. "Sure have."

She smiles at me yet again before handing my license back to me, along with a little cardboard folder containing my room key. "Well, everything seems to be in order, Mr. Oliver. You'll find your room on the fourth floor. It's number 403. My name is Julia. Please let me know if you need anything, okay?" I nod yet again- I'm starting to feel like a bobblehead. "Great. Thank you for choosing Grisham Inn and Suites, and enjoy your stay."

I readjust my grip on my bag and head toward the elevator to go up to my room. When I open the door, I see that it's pretty small, which I know is typical of most hotel rooms in New York, but it's spotlessly clean. There's a comfortable looking bed, some standard furniture, a minifridge, a safe, and- oh, praise Jesus, there's a coffeemaker. I drop my bag in front of the dresser and set about pouring water and grinds into their respective places before pressing the 'on' button. As the coffee brews, it it fills the little room with its heady, familiar aroma, the scent serving to help relieve some of the tightly wound tension in my chest. When it's finally ready, I pour some of the steaming black liquid into a flimsy Styrofoam cup and drink it straight down, not pausing to add cream or sugar or even waiting for it to cool. It's hot, nearly scalding, and I can feel my mouth and throat screaming in protest, but I force it down anyway, making myself swallow it in spite of my discomfort.

It hurts. It does, but I deserve it, and not only that, I want to feel something, anything, even if it's just my tastebuds frying away into oblivion. I want to  _feel_ something, goddammit; I want to know that I'm alive.

I gulp down a few more boiling cups until the pot is empty and I'm completely full of coffee, to the point where I can feel it sloshing around uncomfortably in my stomach. When I'm done, I crumple my cup into the trashcan and head into the microscopic bathroom, where I strip off my clothes and stand under the shower until the water runs cold. When my skin is wrinkly and sore from the pounding streams of water, I finally step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. I step over to gaze into the mirror, which is shrouded by a veil of steam. I wipe it away with the side of my arm and lean closer, so close that I'm almost touching noses with my reflection. Andre was right- I  _do_ have massive dark circles under my eyes. Despite the fact that I'm now clean, I still look like complete hell, and not only that, but there's something else wrong, a sort of discomfort I can't exactly put my finger on.

I stand there for what feels like hours until I finally realize what the problem is: I don't see myself looking back at me. All I see is a worthless piece of shit.

For the first time, the enormity of everything I've done, of everything I've fucked up so miserably comes to me all at once, hatred and disappointment settling over me like a dark cloud, and it's almost more than I can take.

"Who are you?" I whisper at my reflection. "What the hell have you become?"

It doesn't respond.

"Who the  _fuck_ are you?" I demand angrily, tears burning my eyes. "You did this, you know that?  _You_ did this to her! You ruined absolutely fucking everything and it's entirely your fault!"

There's still no reply.

"She could be fucking  _dead_ and it'd be all on you, all because you couldn't keep your goddamn mouth shut! You rotten sonovabitch! What the actual fuck is  _wrong_ with you?!"

Before I know what I'm doing, my fist slams into the mirror, the glass fracturing into spiderweb patterns as it shatters. I can feel tiny shards of it working their way underneath my skin, but it doesn't matter. Nothing fucking matters to me anymore. The only thing that ever did was Jade, and she's nowhere to be found.

I'm lost without her. I acted like I wasn't for as long as I could, but I am. I _need_ her, and she's gone, wiped away as easily as the steam that had coated the mirror.

I'm broken, just like the mirror, only into about a million more pieces, but unlike it, I can't be fixed or replaced. All I can do is  _feel_ it.

I did this. I did this to both of us.

I don't know what to do.

"It's all your fault," I spit at my cracked reflection, sobs rising in my throat for about the millionth time. I feel my entire body start to shake, so I sink down onto the cold tiled floor before I fall over. I go to hide my face in my palms, and my tears burn the battered, bleeding flesh of my hand. It hurts. Everything hurts.

 _I_ did this.

It's all my fault.

* * *

**Author's Note**

So I know this update took a little longer than usual, and I do apologize for that. I had midterms and they were pretty killer, but now I'm on spring break, and I hope to update every day this week, if everything goes according to plan.

After this chapter, I've decided to change the rating to M. This is mainly just for language reasons, but I thought I'd let you guys know anyway!

I hope you liked it! Please consider leaving a quick review with your thoughts- reviews are what keeps stories alive!


	8. Stellar

Cold. I'm so fucking cold.

My eyes snap open, only to be forced back into submission by blinding white light. I'm freezing- shivering, even, and my body's stiff and cramped. I'm vaguely aware of a dull throb in my right hand. Sitting up, I rub my eyes with my fingertips, trying to regain my bearings. It takes me a second to realize that I'm sprawled on the ivory tile of the bathroom floor; I must have fallen asleep in here after my little outburst. Groaning, I heave myself to my feet and head back out into the main room, taking care to ignore the shattered mirror. I know if I even so much as look at it, I'll flip out again, and there's no telling how much damage I'll do.

I go to the dresser and unzip my duffel bag to rifle through its contents, looking for something to wear since I'm still dressed in only the towel I'd put on after my shower. I pick through the clothes until I find a pair of jeans and an old, worn-out t-shirt advertising a band I'd been in briefly after high school. I close my eyes and allow myself a moment to reminisce.

Like so much else in my life, being in that band hadn't amounted to anything, but it was fun. Jade used to come to our shows, if you could even call them that- usually it was just us going to some bar and coaxing the owner or manager or whoever to let us play the drunks out at last call, but Jade was always there, watching, cheering, singing along, as wrapped up in it as if we were rocking out Madison Square Garden. She'd actually been the one who'd had these shirts made for us. She'd given me mine as we were packing up our equipment late one night, excitedly whipping it out of her gigantic bag and handing it to me.

"What's all this?" I'd asked.

"Oh, come on, Beck, every good band has to have merch!" she'd wheedled. "It'll be good advertising. Just think- dive bars today, House of Blues tomorrow."

"You're delusional," I'd teased, slipping off my plaid button down and pulling the new shirt over my head. Damn, it was soft.

"I am  _not,_ " she'd snarked back, reaching up to tug my washer necklace out from under my collar. "You gotta dream big to be big, babe. If you think sleazy clubs is all this'll ever amount to, then you'll never get anywhere. Man up and get out there. I know you guys can do it. And I really do believe that what you put out will come back to you, but it's all completely pointless if you don't even bother fucking trying." Pausing to take a breath, she'd looked up at me with those incredible eyes of hers and snaked her arms around my waist, and when she spoke again, her tone was considerably softer, which was typical Jade- zero to sixty and back again in a blink. I swear, it could give you whiplash. "For what it's worth," she'd murmured, reaching a hand up and tracing circles on my chest with a fingertip, "I believe in you."

I'd pulled her close, bending down to kiss her on the forehead. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

Jade had laughed softly, which quickly turned into a yawn, and I couldn't blame her- it  _was_ pretty late. She'd leaned forward and snuggled her head against my chest, and was quiet for a moment before finally replying. "Yeah, yeah," she'd muttered, voice dripping with mock irritation. "I love you, too."

I finally break my little daydream, realizing I've just been standing there staring at the shirt, the worn fabric crumpled into a ball in my fist, grinding smithereens of broken glass further underneath my skin. I slowly unclench my fingers from it and pull it over my head, then step into a pair of jeans and tug my boots back on. When I'm done, I look down at my hand. The side of my fist is all cut up, a few pieces of glass sparkling from the wound.

Wincing, I grab a toothpick from the little basket beside the coffee maker and set about the excruciating task of digging it all out. When I finally do finish, I'm bleeding again, hands trembling, pulse throbbing, and breath shaky from the experience- it was much more difficult and unnerving than I'd bargained for.

I step back into the bathroom, making sure to keep my eyes down so I don't have to look at the damage I've done to the mirror. I snatch a washcloth from the chrome rack above the toilet and gingerly wrap it around my injured hand. It instantly spots red. I'll have to get some proper bandages. I think there's a Duane Reade a couple of blocks down. Might as well head there now, I figure, slipping on my jacket before pocketing my room key and wallet. Once I get that all taken care of, I can get down to business.

I had thought I'd gotten up pretty early, but once I get to the lobby, a large digital clock behind the front desk all but announces that it's nearly ten in the morning. I shake my head. Goddammit. Stupid jet lag. I'd forgotten about the three hour time difference between here and California. That's going to be a bitch getting used to.

Another guest walking into the lobby sends in a gust of cold wind and makes me shiver, so I button up my peacoat. Ugh. Even though it's March, it's pretty cold here, especially compared to the mild Hollywood weather that I'm accustomed to. I smile and nod at the girl behind the front desk, a different one from last night, and venture out into the streets of the city.

I've been to New York once before, you know. Senior year, Sikowitz took the advanced theater class here for a long weekend. He does it every year. Sort of a tradition, getting away with the seniors before they all go their separate ways. I remember how excited we all were as we boarded our flight at LAX, nervous energy coursing through us all so much that you could probably hear it buzzing in our veins if you cared to stop and listen hard enough. I remember how it'd been Robbie's first time on an airplane, and he'd clung to Rex with one hand and covered his eyes with the other, muttering nervously in Hebrew as we started down the tarmac to take off. I remember how Cat had been delighted to find bibble on the in-flight menu. I remember Tori getting motion sickness, violently retching into her paper bag. I remember Sinjin intently watching the in-flight movie, even though it was some foreign film called Ick Glockmah that he couldn't possibly have understood. I remember how I'd snickered as Andre'd serenaded the flight attendant, and how we'd all watched uncomfortably as Sikowitz had a minor freakout about the unavailability of coconut milk when they'd served us our drinks and pretzels.

But we'd arrived in one piece, and we'd had an absolute blast, seeing a couple of Broadway shows, taking part in an improvisation workshop, eating Frrrozen Hot Chocolate at Serendipity 3, posing for pictures with the doormen at Tiffany's on 5th Avenue, and all of us making larger than life plans about how we were definitely going to be back for good someday. Our last night here, we'd all gone to the top of the Empire State Building. I remember slipping away with Jade to the other side of the observation deck, and kissing her just like Tom Hanks  _should_ have kissed Meg Ryan in Sleepless in Seattle. I'd held her close against the cool night air, and we'd looked down at this unfathomable, beautiful city unfolding beneath us, lights twinkling and the moon a hazy halo against the inky sky, and we might have been miles away from anything celestial, but that sparkling city was just as beautiful as any galaxy, and it felt like it was all there for us, an entire undiscovered solar system revolving not around a sun, but around two teenagers desperately in love with each other, and I remember thinking that must be what infinity felt like.

And now here I am again in this city, but now instead of being like the Milky Way, full of mystery and promise, it feels more like a black hole. It's sucked my sunshine into its swirling abyss, and I'm alone. And it's just occurring to me now that I haven't just lost  _her_. I've lost my friends, my potential, and my sense of self, and those are all things that can take lightyears to be rediscovered.

But as I head into Duane Reade and walk up behind a stockboy to ask him to help me find some bandages for my hand, he turns around, and I'm once again met with a familiar face, and the burnt-out constellation of my life bursts with a new star of hope.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I'm sorry that this chapter took so long! I'm in college and have been busy with schoolwork, plus I had the joy of getting the stomach flu last week and didn't feel up to much of anything, much less updating. But I'm getting back on track now with drafting and such and updates should become pretty regular again. Also, I apologize for the cheesy space metaphors. I've been watching a lot of the SciFi channel lately. You'll have to excuse me.

I love reviews. Leave one and we can be friends. :)


	9. Reconcile

"Robbie?" I stammer, a bit taken aback.

He squints at me through the thick lenses of his wire rimmed glasses, looking puzzled. "Beck?"

I nod in disbelief, stepping forward to pull him into a quick hug. "I had no idea you lived here, man."

"Yeah, well, that's not surprising," he replies, pulling away and folding his arms across his chest, putting more distance between us. I step back, stung. While he'd tried to keep his tone lighthearted, but there was no mistaking the slight snap of bitterness beneath the surface of his words.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," I sigh. "I know I've been kinda AWOL lately, I just-"

" _'Lately'?"_  he repeats, the already hard edge of anger bubbling up further and setting itself more firmly into his voice. "Come  _on,_ Beck. We haven't talked in over a year. That's not what I'd call 'lately'." He shakes his head, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "I just don't get you, man. One day, everything was fine, and the next thing I know, you're hiding out in that dingy camper of yours in some sketchy trailer park, not returning anyone's calls or texts, like you don't even give a damn about your friends anymore."

His words are sharp, but judging from the look in his eyes, there's no real malice behind them; there's just more hurt than anything else. Unsure what to do, I shuffle my feet, clenching my damp, bloody washcloth tighter around my hand. "I know I was a total dick, Rob," I mumble. "And I'm sorry. I was just such a goddamn mess when Jade left-"

"-And I  _understand_ that, I do, but that's no excuse for just running the hell off!" he explodes, spitting the words at me like shards of broken glass. "You could've come to me, to Tori, to Andre, to Cat, even, but you fucking  _didn't._ We could've helped you, you know, but you never even gave us the chance to show you that." He sighs, slipping his glasses off and rubbing a hand over his face.

We stand there solemnly for a moment, the quiet broken only by the faint hum of the fluorescent lights and the beeping of the cash registers. I don't speak. I mean, what point is there? What can I say? I know there's no defending what I've done; there are people I've hurt. There are bonds I've broken. I hang my head in shame as the silence between us grows stonier by the second, like someone's building an actual, impenetrable brick wall here in the middle of the drugstore. I'm considering turning and walking away in defeat when he surprises me by speaking again.

"You aren't the only one who lost something, you know," he says softly, slipping his glasses back on and absently twirling the ties on his uniform smock between his fingers.

I peer up at him, confused, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Yeah, you heard me. You drove Jade off. You lost your girlfriend. Boohoo, that sucks, but you forget that when she left, Cat lost her best friend, too."

I feel my heart sink a little. That thought hadn't even occurred to me, and now that Robbie's pointed it out, I realize it is entirely true. Cat had known Jade since middle school, since before I'd even come into the picture, and they'd always had a tight bond. Jade had a softer spot for Cat than I'd ever seen her have for anyone else, even Tori. Cat had clung to her, and Jade had let her, allowing her in when nearly everyone else was shut out. I can't imagine what she must have felt after Jade just fled without telling a soul where she was going. I close my eyes. I can picture it. I remember what she was like when she'd thought Mona Patterson had died. I can see her replacing her normally bright and cheerful clothing with dark, muted, sad colors, wearing her "I'm sad, ask me why" button on her lapel, the usual pep in her eyes replaced by a deep sorrow, unable to understand why her best friend would just leave without telling her, and the accompanying guilt settles into me, making me feel heavy as lead.

"And not only that," Robbie continues, "You-" he pauses, like he can't decide if he wants to keep going with what he's trying to say. "You left us too, Beck," he finishes, resting a forearm on an empty shelf beside him. " _All_ of us. With no warning at all, just like Jade did. Do you know how badly that hurt? How much that fucked with us? Our entire group dynamic was the same for almost five years and that was all finished in no time at all. Seriously, to this very  _day,_ Cat still gets upset about how everything went down. Sometimes, I come home and find her curled up with that stupid purple stuffed giraffe of hers, leafing through our yearbooks and just crying her eyes out."

"Wait," I say slowly, piecing something together from what he's just said. "You and Cat live... together?"

"Yes. And  _yes,_ it's like  _that,_ before you ask. I think we both knew someday it would be, it was just a matter of when," he says, and I can hear his voice softening considerably as he talks about her. I smile. Good for them. They deserve each other.

"But that's not the point," he continues, starting to sound pissed off again. "The point is-"

"Shapiro!" a voice barks from behind us, startling me. I turn around to see a tall, slightly menacing bald man with a very impressive mustache leering down at us. He's clearly Robbie's boss. "Are you flirting, or working?"

Shit. I hadn't meant to get him in trouble. But when I glance back at Robbie, he doesn't look intimidated in the slightest. In fact... he almost looks bored.

"Neither, Doug," he says coolly, sticking his hands in the pockets of his smock. "You remember that guy I'm always bitching about over poker? You know, the jackass?  _Was_  one of my best friends, but then seemingly fell completely off the face of the earth?"

Doug nods, pursing his lips. "Yeah, of course."

"Well," Robbie nods towards me. "That's him. Beck, meet my boss, Doug. Doug, meet Beck."

Doug steps forward and peers down at me. "So  _you're_ the one, eh?" he asks gruffly. "Heard a lot of things from this one about you."

"All of them good, I'm sure," I mutter under my breath.

"What's that?"

"Nothing," I say quickly, casting my eyes back down to the tiled floor. I know they say not to judge a book by its cover, but this is one big man, and now would really not be a good time to get the shit beaten out of me.

"Smartass," he sneers, turning back to Robbie. "Well, Shapiro, I'm sure you and pretty boy here have plenty to discuss, so why don't you go ahead and take the rest of the afternoon off? Business is slow today, anyway. I'm sure we'll manage without you."

Robbie nods. "Thanks, boss."

"But I'll expect to see you bright and early tomorrow to help unload the shipment from the truck."

"Yeah, of course." Robbie unties his smock and starts to take it off.

"All right, then. Oh, and don't forget about poker later this week. Bring Caterina with you. I'm sure she and the missus wouldn't mind getting together again."

"I'll do it," Robbie agrees, folding his smock over his arm. "Cat'll like that."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow, boy." Doug turns to walk away.

"Bye, Doug! Tell Connie I said hello!" Robbie calls at his retreating back. When he turns back to face me, I just stare at him, dumbfounded.

"What?" he asks.

"How are you so-" I hold up my good hand and cross my fingers. "-with him?"

"I don't know, I guess he just likes me. We get together sometimes. He's teaching me poker, I'm showing him some basic ventriloquism. Cat loves when we go over there and she gets to bake with his wife, Connie." He shrugs. "I don't think he has too many friends, which is something I can relate to," he says, looking at me pointedly. "So we're buds. We help each other out." He pivots on his heel. "Come on, I've got to go clock out."

I follow him down the aisle and through a door marked 'Employees Only'. Once inside, Robbie stashes his smock in his locker and grabs his keys off the hook inside before scanning his time card through a sensor panel on the wall. I just wait by the door, trying to clean some of the drying blood off my hand so it looks a little less gory, but it isn't really helping. When he's done, he faces me, resting his back against the wall, arms folded.

"So. You never did tell me what you're doing here."

I gesture to my wrapped hand. "I had a little accident at the hotel last night and needed to get some bandages."

"Not here in Duane Reade, dumbass!" he exclaims, jangling his keys impatiently. "New York! What are you doing in  _New York?_ "

"Oh," I say sheepishly. "Jade."

"Why?" he asks sarcastically. "What, is she missing or something?" He chuckles, proud of his joke.

"Yes."

That stops him mid-laugh. "Wait, seriously?"

I roll my eyes. "No, actually, I had delightful breakfast this with her this morning and then we took a nice stroll in Central Park- YES, seriously! Jesus, don't you watch the news? She hasn't shown up for work in days, and she's not responding to any calls or anything. No one knows where she is."

"As I matter of fact, I  _don't_ watch the news," Robbie says evenly. "I'm working sixty hours a week, and Cat's got a job as a counter girl at Dylan's Candy Bar, so any free time either of us have, we usually spend together, and not glued to the television like drones." He pauses, thoughtful. "Ever since we moved here last year, Cat's been really trying to reconnect with Jade, too. Whenever she's not at work or with me, she's with her. It's like nothing's changed. She's over the moon to have her best friend back again." He exhales through his teeth. "Come to think of it, she  _did_  say something the other day about Jade not returning her calls, but I just blew it off. I didn't think anything of it." He shakes his head, hooking his thumb through his belt loop. "I don't know how I'm gonna break the news to her. I don't think there's enough bibble in the world to fix this."

"Then don't tell her yet," I plead. "I know a lot's happened and it's been a long time, but I still know Jade better than anyone else, and I think I might have a shot at figuring this out. Besides, she's only been gone a few days, you know? There's no sense in telling Cat and having her worry herself sick about it before we're one hundred percent sure what happened."

Robbie looks up at me and nods- I know he doesn't want to hurt Cat unnecessarily.

"So... are we... okay, then?" I ask. I do it cautiously, and try not to get my hopes up, because I know full well the answer is probably 'no', and I can't say I don't understand why.

Robbie just eyes me silently for a moment, studying me carefully before stepping forward and punching me as hard as he can, slugging me with surprising force. All those hours working here, unloading trucks and stocking shelves, have made him much stronger than I ever would've bargained for.

"Yeah, we're good now," he cackles while I gasp in pain and clutch at my throbbing shoulder.

"Okay, okay, I deserved that," I mutter through gritted teeth.

"Damn  _straight_  you deserved that, you little shit," he replies, cursing for about the millionth time. Wow. New York seems like it's really toughened him up. "Pull another stunt like this again, and I won't be nearly as forgiving."

"Noted," I grunt.

"It's good to have you back, bro," he tells me, clapping me on the back. "Come on." He pushes through the swinging door and holds it open for me. "You're bleeding all over the place. Let's get you cleaned up before the security cameras see you and call you into the NYPD as a murder suspect."

* * *

**Author's Note**

I know I ended the last chapter on a cliffhanger, and I hope that this satisfies everyone. It took me awhile to decide which character to bring back, so let me know what you think of my choice. :)

The angst and suspense are going to ramp up in the next few chapters, so stay tuned for that! And please consider leaving a review, I read and treasure every single one.


	10. Regret

Robbie takes me upstairs to the little health clinic that I know most Duane Reade stores have, for things like flu shots and blood pressure tests- stuff that you need a professional to do for you, but not really serious things that you have to go to the trouble of making a doctor's appointment for. Placing his hand on my shoulder, he guides me onto a bench, then approaches the plump, smiling blonde woman behind the counter several feet away.

"Afternoon," he greets her.

"Afternoon, Robbie," she replies, beaming at him. A nametag prominently displayed on her starched lapel tells me that her name is Fiona. "Who's this?" she asks, nodding to me.

"That's my friend, Beck," he tells her, and I raise my uninjured left hand in a half-hearted wave. "He's cut the hell out of his hand, and I was hoping you could check it out for him."

Fiona peers over at me, her eyes widening when she sees the bloody washcloth I've got clenched around my fist. "Of course, of course I can," she fusses, coming out from behind the counter. She kinda reminds me of my mother. "Come with me."

We fall in line behind her and follow her to a small room in the back, where she directs me to sit in a plastic chair before leaving to go get a few things. Robbie drops himself into the seat beside me, checking his phone and shooting a quick text to Cat while I glance around my new surroundings. Judging from all the weird diagrams on the wall and the selection of otoscopes laying on top of one of the cabinets, this is where they usually do hearing tests.

"Dude?" I whisper, just in case Fiona is back within earshot.

"Hmm?" he asks.

"Are you... are you sure she can help?" I've always hated anything related to doctors, so this is making me more than a little nervous, but I can't exactly tell Robbie that without seeming like a complete and total wimp. I shift my weight uncomfortably in my hard plastic chair, peering through the open door to make sure the coast is clear before continuing. "Don't get me wrong, she seems...  _nice_  and all, but this isn't exactly... I mean, I'm pretty sure all they do here is give flu shots and fit hearing aids. That's not exactly difficult stuff. How do you know she knows what she's doing?"

Robbie rolls his eyes as he locks his phone and pushes it back into his pocket. "Doing all that stuff might not be  _difficult,"_ he agrees, "But it doesn't mean you don't have to be qualified. Fiona's a registered nurse, and she used to be an EMT. You're in good hands, dude. Don't be such a pansy." I must not look very convinced, because he nudges my knee in a way I guess he thinks is comforting. "It'll be fine, Beck," he says softly, elbowing me in the side. "She's gonna take good care of you. Promise."

I swallow hard and nod, more to myself than to him, and a few seconds later, Fiona walks back into the room, carrying the largest first-aid kit I think I've ever seen. She sets it on the counter beside the otoscopes, undoing the latches and rifling through it for a second until she finds a pair of rubber gloves, which she deftly snaps onto her hands before turning to me.

"So, you hurt yourself pretty bad, didn't you, Beck?" she asks conversationally, motioning for me to hold out my hand.

"Yeah," I reply. I can't help but wince as she unwraps the washcloth; it had been stuck to my skin with dried blood. "I had a little accident with some broken glass."

I hear a snicker from beside me, and when I turn to Robbie, I find him fighting back a grin, his mouth open and poised to say something. "Dude," I say sharply, "I swear to God, if you start singing that stupid fucking song-" My words are cut off by a gasp of pain; Fiona's ripped open an alcohol swab and is briskly cleaning my wounds with it.

"-I still think it had potential," Robbie cuts in, folding his arms across his chest. "It was miles better than that 'Favorite Foods' bullshit Andre came up with."

"Dude, that was like five years ago. I think it's time to move on."

"I'll move on when my song gets the credit it deserves."

"Yeah, I'm  _sure_ five year olds would have  _loved_ to have been serenaded with a song about the dangers of broken glass instead of one about their favorite foods."

"It was educational!"

"It was  _morbid!"_

"You wanna talk 'morbid'? Whose girlfriend was it, again, who wrote a play about a girl falling down a well?"

I had been laughing as we had our little back and forth, but it dries up and catches in my throat. I try to smile and laugh it off, but I just can't, and judging by the look on Robbie's face, he knows he's gone too far. I look away from him, concentrating on the pattern of the tiles in the floor, and I can't help but wish I could sink right into them and disappear. Fiona, who had been biting back giggles herself, simply carries on with her work, using a small pair of tweezers to carefully pluck out some bits of glass that I'd missed, and to her immense credit she doesn't question the sudden awkward silence that has filled the room.

"I'm done cleaning this," she tells me, straightening up and tossing the used alcohol swabs and glass shards into the trashcan, "but you're gonna need some stitches."

I feel a rush of panic start to course through my veins- I absolutely  _hate_ needles. "Are you sure?" I ask, trying to keep my voice from sounding squeaky. "C-can't you just, I don't know, slap a good bandage on there and call it a day?"

"Not unless you want to keep bleeding all over the place," she snorts, pulling her gloves off. "You did a pretty impressive job of hacking yourself up on that glass, and since it's in such a high motion area of the hand, it's important that it heals properly. You don't want any more scar tissue than necessary, believe me. I'll go grab some numbing spray from downstairs to make it a little more comfortable for you, though. I'll be right back." And just like that, she's gone again.

Robbie and I sit in the uncomfortable quiet for a few minutes, neither of us sure how to break the tension that has settled between us. Finally, he clears his throat, and whispers "Sorry" under his breath.

I nod and sigh, resting my forehead in my good hand, my elbow propped on my knee. "I know, Rob, you didn't mean anything by it," I assure him.

He nods. "Yeah, I just forgot, you know... I mean, I just saw her the other day with Cat. We went to lunch together." His arms unfold, hands clapping to his denim-covered knees. "It's strange to think that she's just..." he trails off.

"Gone?" I offer.

Robbie nods again, slower this time, his Adam's apple bobbing under the pale skin of his neck. "Yeah."

I push a breath through my lips in a low hiss, not sure how to respond. He  _had_ upset me, but I can't expect him to walk on eggshells around me, policing everything he says to make sure that no mention of Jade ever occurs. After all, it's not like he's done anything wrong. The screwup title is mine for the keeping. "Look, um, don't worry about it, okay?" I tell him, raking my hair away from my face. "I know you didn't mean anything by it. We were just joking around. No harm, no foul." I sit back up and rest my head against the wall before turning to look at him. "Besides," I chuckle, "You have a point. That play she wrote? That  _was_ a little morbid."

"More than a little, I think," he says cautiously, testing the waters to make sure that he doesn't go overboard. "And that's not even counting the one about the clown and the parachute."

I allow myself to laugh at that, remembering the play he's talking about: Jade had written it for her creative theatre class junior year. "Yeah, she was pretty proud of that one," I agree. She really had been, too. She'd spent days poring over that script, writing and editing and rewriting until it was finally satisfactory to her. She had been so excited to give me her final draft to read; so completely jazzed to hear what I thought about this chaotic thing she'd poured her heart and soul into, and I just... didn't get it. "I never really understood what she was trying accomplish with that one," I admit to Robbie, crossing my ankles. "But I never told her that. I couldn't be the one to bring her down." I shake my head. "Of course, Tori's little Prome did a pretty good job of that."

"But Jade was there, right?" Robbie asks. "She got her revenge for that; she played that creepy slideshow, and had that guy in the diaper-"

"Yeah," I reply, "And after she did all that, she spent the entire night crying in my trailer and cutting her libretto into confetti with those scissors Cat got her."

Robbie's face softens. "Really?"

I nod.

"Why?"

"Her dad was supposed to come see it that night. He never really supported her being so into theater- he's a businessman, sees everything in black and white- so she was always trying to prove herself to him, to show him that she had talent and merit, and maybe make him appreciate her a little more. And after she'd spent so much time writing it, and went to the trouble scheduling it six months in advance for a weekend she knew he'd be in town, he never even got to see that play. It just crushed her."

Robbie eyes me, an expression of empathy playing across his face.

"You know," I muse, more to myself than to him, "As much as she'd like you to think so, Jade wasn't all arsenic and razor blades. She had her soft side; she could feel and hurt just like anybody else." I sigh, realizing just how true it is, and just like that, I'm lost in my thoughts again.

Jade had always had this fierce facade about her that she'd spent ages constructing. She was constantly playing it up, trying desperately to seem invincible so she could mask the real kindness and compassion that lay deep inside her. She never let anyone get too close, keeping a solid poker face so she wouldn't get hurt, either by her father's indifference or by people who just didn't understand her and mistook her passionate nature for strangeness. It had literally taken me  _years_  to break her defenses down. For some reason, I'd been her exception. She'd let me in. Jade had pulled back the curtain and shown me her most sheltered and tender parts. She had given me all of her, provided me with all the information and tools and ammunition that anyone would ever need to irreparably damage her, but did so because she believed that I wouldn't do that.

She'd loved me. She'd put her heart in my hands and trusted me not to break it. And that's exactly what I did.

I've known this for awhile, of course. Every day for over a year, I've had to live with the knowledge that I hurt the girl I loved. It's a common feeling for me now. I'm used to it. But just because you're used to something, that doesn't mean you like it, and it sure as hell doesn't mean it hurts any less. If anything, it hurts more; the pain increasing day by day, taking over your entire being like an infection. I could bear it at first. I could manage to swallow it down and go about my life, shitty and meaningless as it was. Is. But now that she's gone, it's thrown an entirely new factor into the equation: uncertainty. I don't know if I'll ever get her to listen to me; to do everything in my power to fix it. Hell, I don't even know if I'll be able to  _find_ her, much less repair our shattered relationship, and that just... that just kills me.

I sit back in my hard plastic chair, grinding my teeth against the throbbing in my hand, staring into the bright fluorescent lights to try and quell the burning sensation in my eyes. I can feel Robbie's worried gaze on me, and I'm not surprised: I haven't spoken in several minutes.

"Beck?" he asks tentatively.

I give my head a slight shake, and he's quiet again. Robbie's always been pretty perceptive, a quality I used to find completely irritating in him, but one that I'm more than grateful for now.

Fiona comes back with a particularly frightening-looking aerosol can, a large, crimson cross emblazoned on the front of it. I can't help but think of blood when I see it. She places it on the counter beside the sink to wash her hands and snap another pair of gloves back on.

"This'll feel a little cold," she warns me, taking my hand and removing the can's cap, "but it shouldn't hurt too much." She nods to Robbie. "If you want, you can hold his hand while I do the stitches. Squeezing something usually helps take your mind off the pain."

Pain. I shiver a little in spite of myself. I know that feeling all too well.

I start to shake my head in dissent to Fiona's suggestion, but Robbie's already slipped his hand in mine. I give him a weird look.

"What?" he asks in his old puppet, Rex's, voice. "I'm secure!"

"Just seems a little weird that, less than an hour ago, you were pummeling the shit out of me downstairs, and now you're up here holding my hand while I get stitches," I mutter.

He snorts. "Stitches fucking  _hurt,_ Beck, even with that numbing crap." Fiona nods. "Trust me, dude, you'll thank me for this later."

"You will," Fiona agrees. "And I promise I won't tell anyone about this," she adds sarcastically, threading her needle. "Ready?"

I'm not, but I nod anyway. I can't help but let out a little grunt as the needle pierces my skin. My cuts aren't especially long, but they are kinda deep, and there's a lot of them. I know I'm in for a rough time. I wince and squeeze Robbie's hand. His knuckles are mottled white and purple, and I know that I have to be hurting him, but he just lets me do it, not saying a word as I all but crush his fingers into dust.

At some point during the stitching session, the tears that had been burning my eyes spring free and roll down my cheeks. Robbie taps my shoulder, making me look him in the face. I expect him to mock me or something, because crying is definitely not the manliest thing to do, but he just solemnly locks eyes with me. After a moment, he leans over and whispers in my ear, low enough that Fiona can't hear: "It'll be okay." And I know he's not just talking about my hand. He's talking about everything.

I nod and swallow, looking down to watch Fiona carefully piece my skin back together, and I wonder if maybe I can find a way to do the same with my heart.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I'm so sorry that this update took me so long! I was so busy with finals and moving out of my dorm and back home, and on top of all that, my roommate accidentally took home one of boxes- and of  _course_ it was the one that had all of my fanfiction notes and outlines in it. It took me longer than I expected to get it back, but I'll make it up to you guys, I promise.

The story will really be picking up in the next chapter and the ones after that, so stay tuned! Also, if you favorite or subscribe or even just read, please consider leaving a review. I really do love reading them. :)


	11. Journey

"Okay," Fiona says, bending over and peering at my hand to inspect her work, "I think I'm all done here. Let me just bandage you up, and then you can be on your way." She stands and tosses her stitching supplies into the trash, and I can't help but smile a little when I hear them hit the bottom of the can with a soft  _clunk,_ the unpleasant experience now most definitely over with.

I finally release the death grip I've been keeping on Robbie's hand, and he breathes a sigh of relief, flexing his stiff, purple fingers to get the blood flowing back into them.

"Sorry," I say apologetically.

"It's fine," he assures me, cracking a grin. "I  _told_ you stitches were some serious shit, but  _no,_ Mister Manly Beck thought he could handle it on his own-"

"Shut up," I say, popping him in the shoulder. As inane as our conversation is, it's kind of nice; we're getting back into the old rhythm of our friendship, playing off of each other, just like we used to. I hadn't really realized just how much I'd missed Robbie. It's good to have him back.

Fiona finishes wrapping a clean length of gauze around my hand and carefully tapes it into place. "Finished," she says, scooping the rest of her stuff back into her first aid kit. "Just make sure you keep it clean and change the bandages every day, and it should heal up just fine. If it starts getting red or oozing or anything, you'll need to come back so that we can rule out infection. But you're young. It should be back to normal in no time."

"Thank you so much, Fiona," I tell her, standing up from my chair. My hand feels so much better already; it's like she's got the magic touch or something.

"You're welcome," she tells me, smiling. I go to get my wallet out of my pocket, stomach sinking a little when I think about how much stitches must cost, especially when they're not even usually done here. Fiona must realize what I'm doing, because she shakes her head. "No charge."

My heart gives a slight leap, but I can't help but feel a little guilty at not paying her. "Are you sure?" I ask.

She nods firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yes. I can't take your money. Besides," she chuckles, "taking blood pressure and doing hearing tests gets a little tedious. I should be thanking you for spicing up my day."

"Well, glad I could help," I shoot back, smiling. "But really, thank you. I mean it. Thanks."

Fiona nods. "Of course, Beck. Any friend of Robbie's is a friend of mine. Come back if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay," I agree. "Thanks again."

I turn and walk out of the little office, heading back to the main part of the store with Robbie in tow.

"So, where to, now?" he asks as we ride down the escalator to the first floor.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the crumpled napkin Andre had given me on the airplane. The ink is a little smudged and it's wrinkled as hell. I smooth it out as best as I can and hold it up to the light, squinting at the handwriting. The address doesn't make much sense to me, so I hand the napkin to Robbie. "Here. Do you know where this is?"

He takes it from me, peering at it through his glasses. "Yeah, but we're going to have to take one hell of a subway ride to get there. Are you down for that?"

"Yep," I say. "As long as you are."

"Oh, definitely. Cat's working late tonight. Might as well."

We step off of the escalator and, after I buy I couple of boxes of bandages and a roll of paper tape for my hand, we head out the door of the building to the street outside. Robbie seems to know exactly where he's going, leading me down the block without even missing a beat, deftly avoiding eye contact with the street vendors who are loudly advertising their overpriced wares. He walks steadily, with purpose, never once hesitating or stopping to check his phone for directions. He clearly knows his surroundings very well, and he walks confidently, a far cry from the seventeen year old boy he was the last time we were here together, nose buried in a map and flinching at the slightest sound. I smile to myself. New York has obviously been good for him.

We turn right and walk for two more blocks, ending up at an entrance to a subway station. We troop down the stairs and to the turnstiles, where Robbie swipes his MetroCard for both of our fares.

"Thanks, man," I say. "I haven't gotten around to getting a card yet."

Robbie shrugs. "No big. It doesn't cost that much to ride the subway- that's why so many people do it. Don't worry about it."

I nod, and follow him closely as he navigates us through the labyrinthine subway station. We finally stop beside an empty track, and I go to sit on one of the benches nearby, but Robbie grabs my wrist, shaking his head. "No point. It'll be here any minute." And sure enough, seconds later, the train arrives with a  _whoosh_ of warm air and exhaust. We stand back as the doors open and an impossible amount of people tumble out, then step into one of the cars.

" _Now_ you can sit," he tells me, plopping himself onto a molded plastic bench built into the wall. I follow suit. "We're going to be on here for a little bit, and trust me, you don't want to be standing."

"Why not?" I ask. This entire thing is starting to make me feel extremely naïve, but, hell, I haven't been here in almost five years. I can't be expected to remember every damn detail.

"Because, first of all, it's almost impossible to keep your balance on one of these things without hanging on for dear life, and secondly, I don't think having a death grip on a pole would be in your best interest right now, do you?"

I look down at my freshly stitched and bandaged hand. "No, I guess not."

Robbie stretches his arms out and then folds his hands behind his head. "So, how are you planning on getting into her place? Going through the window, or are we doing a good, old-fashioned, breaking and entering?"

"Neither," I say, rolling my eyes. "I know where the spare key is. Andre told me."

"Convenient."

"Yeah."

A silence grows between us that's a little awkward, but isn't entirely uncomfortable; we just don't really have anything to say. I mean, what would we talk about? How do you even begin to bridge a gap of over a year's time? Where do you start? What steps do you have to take to make things even remotely normal again? I don't know, and honestly, I have too much on my mind to really care. Robbie and I might not be the best of friends like we once were, but at least we're  _something._ We'll get there. I know we will. I'll make it right.

I fiddle with my phone as the train hums along, killing time. It feels like we've been on here forever, even though I know it can't be more than about twenty minutes. When it screeches to a stop at yet another station, Robbie finally motions for me to get up.

"We're- we're there?" I sputter.

"Yeah," he tells me, leading me off the train and out of the station. "We're here."

* * *

**Author's Note**

First and foremost, I'd really like to apologize for how long it took me to finish this update. The summer just got away from me, and before I knew it, it was time to move back to school, and adjusting to that left me with almost no time. (Being a junior in college is actually hell on Earth, just so you know.) But while I wasn't updating during that time, it didn't mean that I wasn't working on the story at all- I just needed to outline and plot things out and really get a sense of where it was going. I definitely know now, and I promise that updates will never be so few and far between again. Thank you all for your patience.

Also, as usual, I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are welcome and appreciated! :)


	12. Clues

"Listen, man," I say to Robbie as we exit the subway station and make our way back up to street level, "I appreciate all your help. I really do, but..." I trail off, tugging at the ends of my hair. I just can't seem to find a way to say what I want to without sounding like a total douche.

"...But you'd rather go up there alone," Robbie supplies knowingly. "I figured. I get it, Beck. No hard feelings. It's that one," he says, gesturing to a tall, gray building looming across the street. "Seventh floor, apartment D. I'll be at the Starbucks down the block, okay? Call me if you need anything. My number's the same as it's always been."

I nod, swallowing hard. "Thanks again, Rob."

"No problem," he replies. "Um... good luck?" He chuckles briefly. "Sorry, I just didn't really know what else to say. That'll work, though, right?"

"Yeah, thanks." He strides off down the street toward Starbucks, while I turn to face the huge, stony building in front of me. It looks kind of foreboding, like some sort of old Gothic hotel that Poe might have stayed at or something. I shrug. It's so typical of Jade to have picked possibly the creepiest place to live in all of New York.

Crossing the street, I head up to the main door of the building, relieved to find that there's no doorman that I'd have to lie to in order to gain entrance. The lobby is sort of shabby- just a few mismatched armchairs and a rickety old coffee table covered with copies of The New York Times- but it's got a payphone and a fireplace, and it's pleasantly warm compared to the brisk spring air outside. I make my way to the elevator at the other end, and when it "dings" its arrival, I step inside and press my thumb against the button marked "7".

I don't know what I'd been expecting, but it definitely wasn't an elevator  _this_ slow. Still, this building clearly isn't the type to have the latest and greatest technology, and I'm not about to walk up seven stories, so I'll take what I can get. As the elevator hums me from floor to floor, I can't help but take a moment to really think about what I'm doing.

Somewhere between floors 2 and 3, I realize that I've literally come all the way across the country just to look for a girl I know. Knew. Dammit. I'm not even sure which one it is anymore.

Around floors 4 and 5, it occurs to me that this is totally ludicrous. She's missing. And not only that, but no one has any idea where she is. If NYPD couldn't even find her, then what, exactly, made me think that I'd have any better luck?

By the time the elevator slowly whines to a stop on the seventh floor, I'm so nervous and psyched out that I can hardly breathe.

After pacing around for a few minutes, I finally find Jade's apartment tucked in the corner of the landing, a dark brass "D" gleaming dimly from the painted wood of her door. She has a tiny table crammed between the doorway and the wall, supporting an unwieldy concrete gargoyle statue which in turn wears a black studded collar and a stiff pink tutu. I can't help but roll my eyes when I see it. The entire thing just screams Jade.

Okay. Key. Where's the key? Andre'd told me, but somehow I can't seem to remember. I glance around, looking for a hiding spot, and even brush my fingers over the top of the doorframe to check there, but there's nothing. Damn!

I rub the back of my neck, trying to force myself to think. All I can think of is that damned gargoyle, smirking up at me from its perch atop the table.  _Wait._  I pick it up and turn it over, and sure enough, a brass key is taped to the bottom of it. I peel the tape off to tug it free and gingerly replace the gargoyle- the table wobbles a bit, but it soon rights itself. I nod to myself. Good. Casualty successfully avoided.

Even though I've come all this way, and even though I have the key dangling from my fingers by a black silk ribbon, ensuring my entry into the apartment, I just can't seem to muster the courage to make myself actually go inside. It'd just... it'd just make everything more real, I guess. It's easier to deal with the pain of losing someone when it's abstract; when there's no concrete evidence of it, but going inside, seeing her home without her there- I just know that it's going to change everything, it's going to make her absence that much more tangible, and I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to deal with that. I mean, I lost my cool already, and that alone got me ten stitches and a shattered mirror to answer for.

Maybe I shouldn't do this. But then again...

My mom-

_"Go find her, Beck, and make sure she's all right. We love you."_

Andre-

_"Just... do me a favor, alright?"_

_"Yeah, man, anything."_

_"Find her."_

Robbie-

_"You aren't the only one who lost something, you know."_

Bits and pieces of these conversations swirl around me until it feels like I'm caught in a haze of words.

This isn't just about me anymore, I realize. Maybe it never was. It's not just about Jade, either, which is a conclusion I never expected to reach. Our relationship was a bigger piece of the puzzle than I ever dreamt it could've been. We have all of these interrelated connections and friendships and consequences set into motion by our interactions and our later refusal to acknowledge each other, creating ripple effects that I've just been too blind to see.

It's not about me. It's not about her. It's about  _all_  of us. And I need to find her. I have to start here, I have to do what it takes to go about beginning to find a way to make it all okay again.

I have to go inside. I don't have a choice. At this point, I'm not sure if I ever did.

I nod to myself. Here we go. It's now or never.

* * *

When I step into the apartment, my boots thudding on the bare wooden floor, the first thing that strikes me is how unbelievably  _clean_ it is. In my experience, Jade was never what you would call tidy; in high school, her locker was always filled to the brim with old papers, empty Jet Brew cups, yellowed scripts, and discarded, dull pairs of scissors. She used to have to haul it all out in a kitchen sized trash bag about once a semester, something that never failed to amuse me.

"You hold onto  _everything,"_ I'd tease as I helped her rifle through it all.

"Yeah, well," she'd say with a shrug, "everything's got a memory."

My fingers brush the worn metal washer resting against my collarbone.

She was right about that.

As I look at the apartment, I'm not sure if her pack rat tendencies have dissipated or if she's just gotten better at hiding them, but either way, the place is spotless. I stay where I am for a moment and pivot around on the spot, trying to get a feel for it. Her living room is immediately to my right, complete with a leather couch, coffee table, and a huge flat screen tv atop a stand that's positively crammed with movies. A copy of  _The Scissoring_ sits on the top of the stand, the case still open, as if she'd been here watching it mere moments ago.

A double picture frame hangs proudly above the entire television setup, and when I get closer to it, I realize it's two framed copies of playbills from  _Wicked._ I peer at them, and realize that each of them have dates written on the mat below them. One is from about four years ago, and one is from maybe ten months ago.  _Oh._

The playbill with the earlier date on it is the one from the day that we all saw it together- I'd totally forgotten that, when we'd come here with school senior year, one of the shows that we saw was  _Wicked._ Of course. I remember sitting there in the balcony with Jade, and honestly, I was watching her more than the show- she was so entranced by all of it, and I think even then she knew that was what she wanted to do.

The other playbill must be from her opening night as Nessarose, because she's signed it, her name looping in scrawling Sharpie over the logo. At the bottom of the frame is a metal plate engraved with  _"I'll be back for good someday/To make my life and make my way"- 'One Short Day', from "Wicked: A New Musical"._

Jade  _had_  come back for good, just like the song said. She'd come back and made something of herself. Most people couldn't say the same. I sure as hell couldn't. I try to put that thought out of my mind, though. Thinking like that wouldn't help me here. I shake my head, turning away from the frame to inspect the rest of the apartment.

On the other side of her living room, there's a closed door. Her bedroom, I figure, and I swallow hard. I'll have to make sure to save that for last.

After I circle the living room, I see that there's a bookshelf directly to the left of the front door, covered in miscellaneous items. I walk right by it, deciding that I'll inspect it more closely in a minute. Beyond the bookshelf is a small bar, complete with a couple of high stools- the eating area for the microscopic kitchen behind it. There's no separate dining room, just a nook in front of a window where a table  _should_ be, but she doesn't have one. Instead, there's a large, antique-looking desk, equipped with a cup of pens and little black wicker basket that seems to have bills and receipts in it. There's a clock hanging on the wall above it, its hands a large pair of scissors, each blade pointing to a different number to indicate the time. I smile. It's nice to see a touch of something so stereotypically Jade in the otherwise anonymous apartment.

As I step further inside, I start to see more and more hints of her; indications that she really had tried to make this place seem like her home. There's a vase of dried black roses sitting neatly on the coffee table in the living room. Several of her precious specimen jars are lined up on the top shelf of her desk. A small silver bowl perches against the wall on the far corner of the bar counter, and it's filled with jewelry- probably where she dropped her rings so she didn't get them dirty while she worked in the kitchen, I figure. I pick through the bowl, lifting aside the various necklaces and bracelets and rings, but the one thing I'm looking for, her washer necklace, is most definitely not there.

My chest tightens up. I don't know why I'm surprised. I guess a part of me had been holding out hope that she still had it, that maybe somewhere deep inside it still meant something to her, but I know that's ridiculous. My expectations are too high for everything that's happened. It's best to just let them go and move on. So that's exactly what I do.

I round the corner to go into the little kitchen. A Keurig coffee maker, one of the fancy, ten-cup, could-probably-jumpstart-your-car-if-necessary models, slouches on the counter. I laugh to myself. Jade always drank enough coffee to give several people heart attacks from all the caffeine. I know that if they ever invent a way to deliver it intravenously, she'd most definitely be first in line.

I open the fridge and rifle through a couple of cabinets, but there's no real clues anywhere, just a half empty box of Cheerios, a couple of packets of instant ramen noodles, and some frozen meals crammed in the freezer. The only thing that I can gather from those is that she eats a lot of carbs and processed food, and I don't really see how  _that's_ going to tell me anything.

I've been in here for almost half an hour, and I still haven't come across anything that could be even remotely important,  _nothing_ that could even begin to give me a clue as to what might have happened to her, and it's frankly starting to piss me off.

"Dammit, Jade," I say aloud to myself, "of all the times for you to  _finally_ get your shit together and stop being a total slob, you had to pick  _now?"_ I kick the cabinet in frustration. I can't help it. It's just all so infuriating. There has to be  _something._

Okay, I think. Regroup. Figure out where you haven't looked yet. That's all you have to do.

The basket on her desk. That'd be a good place to start.

I go and pick it up to rifle through its contents. Envelopes from ConEd, her paycheck stub from the Gershwin, a letter from what appears to be a doctor's office, and- ah. There we go. A voided check to a maid's service- that explains why the place is so spic and span. Behind the check, I find receipts for Duane Reade, dated about three weeks ago. They don't specify what she bought, just that she'd picked up some prescriptions and paid a copay of about fifteen dollars. Hmm. Maybe she'd been sick or something. Next to those are some more receipts, most of them from a coffee shop called De Been. I pocket one of them, thinking it could be useful, and then carefully replace the basket in its spot on the desk.

When I turn away from the little nook, I realize with a pang that now I'm going to have to go into her bedroom.

I cross the living room in maybe three or four steps, and, this time, I don't give myself a chance to get all wishy-washy about it- I man up and walk right inside.

The room is smaller than I'd been expecting, with barely room for her bed, dresser, and nightstand. The bed is made neatly, deep purple covers carefully smoothed up to the headboard.

I don't know what makes me do it. I can't explain it, even if I wanted to, but something makes me fold back the covers on her bed, and that's where I find the biggest surprise since I've been in here, something that tugs at my heartstrings more than I ever thought possible: her pillow.

Not  _just_ her pillow, though, what's  _on_ it: the plaid shirt of mine she'd worn to school on our anniversary all those years ago, buttoned carefully around the pillow like a pillowcase. It's faded and threadbare, but it's indisputably mine. It still has my name on the tag.

I don't know what to make of it.

She still has something of mine. She kept it, after all this time, and that's all I need to know for now.

I leave the room quietly, almost reverently, making sure to close the door behind me. I have something now. I have the receipt, and that's more of a clue than I had this morning. And, more importantly, I have the knowledge that, even after everything, she still had a part of her that cared enough to hang onto a piece of me when I couldn't have blamed her if she hadn't, and that in itself makes me feel better than I have in a long, long time.

As I start to head out of the apartment, I pause to glance over the bookshelf by the door, like I promised myself I would when I walked in. It's there that I find even more things, keepsakes from her old life back in LA: her high school diploma. The scissors Cat had bought her for Christmas one year. Playbills from all the shows at Hollywood Arts. A reusable mug from Jet Brew. But it's what's in the middle of the bookshelf, taking center stage, that really gets to me: a framed photograph of the two of us after graduation, still in our caps and gowns, arms wound around each others' shoulders while I kiss her on the cheek.

I remember taking this picture. I can almost feel her arms around me and my lips against her skin.

We look so damned happy, so full of promise, like we just  _know_ that we're going to accomplish everything we've ever dreamed of and love each other while we do it.

How did we get from that to  _this?_

I lift the photograph carefully off of the shelf and blow the dust off. Jade grins up at me from the frame- I remember that this had been one of the few times I'd managed to get her to agree to smile for a picture. She usually refused. She said it "added to her mystique". But there she is, seventeen years old and beautiful, beaming up at me from her home behind the pane of glass. I run my thumb over her face, my resolve stronger than ever.

"Let me find you, baby," I murmur, hugging the frame to my chest. "Please, God, just let me find her."

* * *

**Author's Note**

A little bit of a longer wait for this chapter, but I made it super long to make up for it! (Over three thousand words!) I know it might look like a lot of words for a seemingly uneventful chapter, but there's some definite foreshadowing hidden in there, and the next two chapters will bring the story to a head and send the angst sky-high. So, I hope you guys are ready. :)

As always, please consider leaving me a review! I love hearing what you guys think and it makes writing the story that much more fun for me. :) I read and reply to every single one, so you've got nothing to lose, right? Right.


	13. Secrets

I text Robbie as soon as I head out of the apartment, letting him know I'll catch the subway back to my hotel. He invites me to his and Cat's place for dinner, but I decline, and to his credit, he doesn't push or pry. I lock Jade's door behind me and carefully put the key back underneath her tutu-wearing gargoyle before shuffling to the elevator.

When it arrives, I step inside and press the button for the main floor, leaning my back against the cool wood of the wall as I'm slowly chugged back down to street level. I sigh. I'm just so exasperated. I'd thought for  _sure_ that coming here was the right thing to do; that at the very least I'd find something to point me in the right direction, if not solve the mystery completely. I realize now that I'd been a little too optimistic; I guess I've just seen a few too many crime dramas, and I'm used to having things neatly wrapped up and solved at the end of each hour-long episode. But this isn't  _Law and Order._ This is real life, and it was stupid of me to think that going through Jade's apartment would turn up any huge, pivotal piece of evidence. I'm a twenty-two year old deadbeat who lives in a trailer, for God's sake, not some kind of brilliant, mastermind detective. No, coming here had just raised far more questions than it'd answered. I'll just have to keep looking.

The elevator arrives on the ground floor and I step out, habitually plunging my good hand into my pocket. My fingers close around a slip of paper, and when I pull it out to examine it, I see it's one of the receipts I'd taken from Jade's desk earlier. From that coffee shop- De Been, or whatever. My sense of direction isn't exactly great, especially not in New York since I've only been here once, but I know enough about it that I like to think I'm not completely helpless, and judging from the address printed at the top of the receipt, this coffee shop is only a few blocks away. I shrug as I walk out the door and head in what I really hope is the right direction. It's as good a place to start as any, and even if I don't find anything, at least I have a cup of coffee waiting for me.

* * *

A bell jingles when I push my way through the door of the coffee shop, my eyes adjusting to the dim light inside.  _Oh_ , yeah. This is definitely the kind of place that Jade would be into: there's a chalkboard menu that covers almost all of one of the walls, with more options for different drinks and roasts and syrups than even  _I_ would know what to do with. Antique coffee pots are strung from the ceiling, holes punched in their metal sides to reveal lightbulbs- they're makeshift lamps, filling the place with a soft, cheerful glow. Mismatched tables and chairs are interspersed among a few squashy recliners, while the back wall is covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves, which are crammed with books and magazines. A sign near the shelves announces that all reading materials are free and may be taken from the shop, as long as they are brought back or eventually replaced with something else. Kinda like a lending library, minus the overdue fines. I can easily picture Jade hiding away in a corner of this place, curled up in a chair with a huge cup of coffee while studying her lines or reading a book. It's such a vivid picture, in fact, that without really thinking about it, I peer around the shop, half-expecting to see her emerge from the shadows at any moment.

"Sir?"

I turn to find a blonde, cheerful-looking barista smiling at me from behind the counter. "Oh, sorry. Hi."

"Good afternoon, and welcome to De Been. I'm Cassie. What can I get for you today?"

"Something hot, I think? It's a little cool outside. Maybe a hazelnut soy latte?"

"Definitely," she nods.

I walk the few remaining steps to the cash register while she rings me up. "How much do I owe you?"

"$4.58, please."

I tug a crumpled five-dollar bill from my pocket and hand it to her.

"I don't think I've seen you around before," she says conversationally, handing me my change. "You're not one of our regulars. Are you new in town?"

"Kind of. Yeah," I admit.

Cassie turns around to begin making my latte, heating soy milk and measuring hazelnut flavor syrup into a cup. "So, how'd you hear about us?" she asks. "I know most people new to the city would much rather go to familiar old Starbucks than the rundown, neighborhood coffee shop."

I decide to take a giant leap. "I'm, um, I'm friends? With one of your regulars? Jade West, the- um-"

"Oh,  _I_ know Jade!" she exclaims. "We're kinda friends, too, since she's usually in here all the time. Always gets a sixteen ounce plain coffee, with-"

"Two sugars," I finish.

"That's right," Cassie agrees. She turns back to me so she can hand me my latte, steaming in its paper cup. "But..." her face crumbles slightly, like she doesn't know what to say. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but..."

"She's missing. I know." I slip a cardboard sleeve over my cup so I can hold it without the scalding heat radiating into my skin. "I'm kinda... you know. Looking for her. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. She and I, we were really close, so... I don't know, I guess I feel like maybe I understand her better than other people, and maybe that'll help me find her even though the police couldn't." I shrug, taking a sip of my latte and trying not to wince when it scalds my mouth. "I just wanna make sure she's okay."

Cassie nods. "What did you say your name was, again?"

"I didn't. I'm Beck. Beck Oliver."

"Wait, you're Beck? Like,  _the_ Beck?"

"I'm not sure," I say slowly. "Why, she ever talk about me or something?"

"In- in a manner of speaking," she says carefully.

"What do you mean?"

Cassie looks around the shop as if checking for eavesdroppers before leaning over the counter conspiratorially. "The first time I ever met Jade, it was about a year ago. I remember, because she came into the shop extremely upset, essentially screaming at someone on her phone.  _Very_ loudly. I don't know who it was, but the main idea was 'you're fucking crazy if you think I'm going to tell Beck about this.' She was very adamant about it. She said some variation of that at least five or six times."

This piques my curiosity. "Tell me about  _what,_  exactly?"

Cassie shrugs. "Dunno."

"Did she say anything else?"

"Yeah, actually, now that you mention it, she did."

"So... what was it?"

"Something along the lines of 'it's over and done with, I blocked his number, I'll handle this on my own.' Yeah. Something like that. I don't remember verbatim, obviously, but that's the gist."

I frown. "And you don't have any idea what she could've been talking about?"

"Sorry, no. I wish I did, but I really don't know anything other than that."

"It's okay," I sigh. "Um... just one more question, if that's cool."

"Yeah?"

"What- what was she  _like_ the last time you saw her?" I ask. "Was there anything off about her, or...?"

Cassie nods, biting her lip like she's thinking. "Mmhmm. There was. Jade was never exactly what I'd call 'talkative' or anything like that. She mostly kept to herself, but we did have a few conversations, and we always used to small talk at the register. Talk about our weekend plans, things like that. Nothing major. But the last time I saw her, she barely spoke to me except to order her coffee. She didn't even bother taking her sunglasses off when she came inside, which I remember thinking was strange, because it's already pretty dim in here. I don't know how she saw anything at all. I guess maybe she was wearing them to hide the fact that she was crying."

That gets me. "Wait,  _crying?"_

"Yep. I could tell. She was breathing all weird, like her nose was running, and I could hear it in her voice. It was thick and shaky, like she could break down any second. I'd never seen her like that before. I started to ask her what was wrong, but I caught myself. I didn't want to pry." She lets out a breath and twists her fingers together, leaning her elbows on the countertop. "I don't know, maybe I should have."

"It's not your fault."

"It's not yours, either, Beck."

I know she's just saying that to reciprocate, but it doesn't mean that I don't appreciate it. "Thanks, Cassie. And thanks for the coffee."

"Anytime. Come back and see us soon."

"Will do."

I heft my coffee into my hand and breeze out the door, not even really paying attention to where I'm going. I just mindlessly wander through the streets, pretty much oblivious to anything going on around me. I don't even know how I manage to get back to my hotel room. The entire walk and subway ride is a complete blur, like I'd been on autopilot the whole time. I sit on the nubby blanket of the bed and stare at the cheap navy carpeting.

Jade had kept something from me.

That's all I can think about.

I had only come here, to New York, because I thought for sure I'd had some kind of insight into her mind; some kind of connection with her that was unique and which would help me locate her. It had been the only thing I was sure of, and now, it's gone too. Because she'd  _lied_  to me. I don't even know what it was about, but it's enough to get me second-guessing myself. If she'd lied at least once, like Cassie had told me she had, then who was to say she hadn't done it before? How could I know for sure that the Jade I knew and loved was real? We'd always had an honest relationship, or so I'd thought. We'd told each other everything. I know things about her that no one else does, and she is equally in possession of some of my deepest secrets.

What could be so detrimental or tragic or just plain  _bad_ that she wouldn't tell me about it?

Did it have something to do with her disappearing?

Where was she?

 _Who_ was she?

And would I ever be reunited with her so that I could find out?

* * *

**Author's Note**

I am so,  _so_ sorry that this took me so long. School got extremely crazy for me, and I just didn't have the time to dedicate to writing that I would've liked. But not to worry, I'm on hiatus from school until March when I'll be studying abroad, so I will be using those three months to write, write, write. I cannot wait for everyone to see what I have in store for this story, and appreciate your patience while I take my time writing it. :)

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and, as always, reviews are welcome and appreciated!


	14. Puzzle

I push a hand through my hair, raking my nails against my scalp until my skin smarts with pain. I don't know what to do. I hate to admit it, but I'm really beginning to get worried. My trip to the coffee shop hadn't brought me anything but more unanswered questions and secrets, piling yet another layer of mystery on top of the already monumental stack of information I have to sift through. It's been hard, and I know it's going to continue to be so, but I just can't give up. Not yet.

 

I heave myself up from my perch on the end of my bed so I can empty my pockets of all the little things I'd swiped from Jade's apartment: her voided check. Her pay stub. The receipt from the coffee shop, and-- there. The little stack of receipts from Duane Reade. I pick one up and inspect it carefully. I'd already looked it over once while I was in her apartment, but maybe I missed something.

 

It's dated about three weeks ago, and it has a charge of about fifteen dollars on it, listed simply as “copay”-- no specific information as to what she bought, just the clue that it was a prescription. I run my finger over her looping signature scrawled across the bottom, chuckling to myself. Jade always signed everything like it was an autograph, even mundane things like this. She used to tell me it was good practice.

 

I flip the receipt over and set it back in the pile of stuff on the bed. That's when I see it: a handwritten note, probably from the pharmacist, printed neatly across the back of the little paper. I lunge forward and snatch it back up, hurriedly scanning the note in the hopes of finally coming across _some_ sort of useable clue.

 

“Ms West,” it says, “This is a stronger SSRI than the medication you were prescribed early last year, and as such, I recommend that you ease yourself into it by cutting the tablets in half for a week, then working up to taking a full dose. Your symptoms should see some improvement within four to six weeks, but as with any medication, there are potential side effects that you need to be mindful of. Look after yourself, and call us with any questions.”

 

There's a phone number written beneath the note. I slide my phone out of my pocket, but I don't dial the number; instead, I swivel through several different screens until I find my Google toolbar. I carefully type 'SSRI' into the search field and hit return, biting my lip as I wait for the results the load.

 

The first thing that comes up is a hit for some kind of silver company whose stock ticker is the letters 'SSRI'. I scroll past that, and right below it I find a bolded header for another entry. “Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor,” I read aloud. It's listed in the search results as a 'drug class'-- this _has_ to be what I'm looking for. “A class of compounds typically used as antidepressants in the treatment of depression, anxiety disorders, and some personality disorders.”

 

_Depression? **What?**_

 

I can't help but be a little confused. The entire time that I'd known her-- and especially when we were still dating-- Jade had always been a little more... I don't know, _intense_ than other girls, but that had been something that I'd _liked_ about her. She was a little rough around the edges, maybe, but that didn't mean she didn't have a soul. I happen to know for a fact that she just... she felt things more deeply than other people, and so she'd developed this badass persona to help protect herself. Underneath her stony exterior was someone who was actually surprisingly warm and very tenderhearted. I can't imagine her being depressed, and I have to wonder what in the hell could have happened or made her feel badly enough that she'd needed medication to get past it.

 

I look back at the note, rereading it carefully. “This is a slightly stronger SSRI than the medication you were prescribed early last year.” Last _year?_ What? I remember what Cassie had told me at DeBeen earlier today-- that the first time she'd met Jade, she'd been on the phone with someone, screaming at them about me, and a secret she'd had that she couldn't possibly tell me about. It bothers me that I don't know what that secret could be, but what bothers me even more is that maybe it or our breakup had been what had unhinged her the first time. It hurts to think that maybe I had a hand in this, but I have to admit, it _does_ kind of make sense. Still, the last contact I'd managed to have with Jade was a year ago-- what could've happened since then? Something had _clearly_ brought her to her knees, or else she wouldn't be taking medicine again. I distantly wonder if this recurrence might have something to do with the other detail Cassie had mentioned to me: that Jade had come in crying a few weeks ago. It has to, I decide; the timeline is too narrow for it to be just a coincidence.

 

So, _now_ Jade's not only _missing,_ but, wherever she is, she's probably a little less than stable. According to the note from the pharmacist, it's going to take awhile for her to feel better, and from what I can tell, she's only been taking this stuff for about three weeks. Not long enough to help her, but long enough to hurt her, if the side effects are as intense as the note says they can be. I turn back to my phone and click open the Wikipedia article about SSRIs, hoping that it'll shed some light or maybe even be a little reassuring, but I don't find anything especially comforting. It's mainly just a lot of scientific jargon about how the drugs work and what they treat. I scroll further down the page, just skimming, until a tab titled 'Adverse Effects' catches my eye. Warily, I click it open. Oh _god._ I swear, the list of side effects is almost a mile long, and they range from innocent things like nausea to... _fuck._ _ **Fuck.**_

 

Printed near the end of the list, in clean, black type, are the words 'suicidal ideation (suicidal thoughts)'.

 

My mouth instantly goes dry. Back at Hollywood Arts, we had had a huge unit on mental wellness in our health class. I guess they figured that if you were artsy, you were bound to be fucked up somehow. One of the things that we'd learned were the signs of being suicidal, and one major one was being withdrawn. Maybe I'm reading too much into things, but Jade fucking _disappeared--_ I mean, how much more withdrawn can you _get?_ What if-- what if she's planning on-- oh, _god--_

 

My heart races with urgency as I cram all the receipts and shit back into the pocket of my jeans. _No._ I snatch my room key off of my nightstand and stomp back out the door.

 

I'm not going to let anything happen to her. I've lost her once; I'll be _damned_ if the entire world is going to have to mourn her, too. No more fucking around, getting sidetracked and pausing every five minutes to mope. No, I came here for a _reason,_ a reason that's even more pressing giving what I know now. I made a promise, and I'm going to make good on it. I don't care _what_ it takes, _I'm going to find her._

* * *

**Author's Note**

 

I know this kind of filler-y, but I had to do it to give yall some clues and set things up. I can't wait for the next chapter-- I've got a lot planned, and I think you're gonna like it. :) Look for it to be posted sometime tomorrow!

 

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if so, let me know! Reviews are always welcomed and appreciated. :)

 


	15. Discovery

Once I'm back outside, I start semi-methodically working my way through the city, going anywhere and everywhere I think Jade could've gone to lately: the laundromat. DeBeen. I stop at every Duane Reade I see (which is a lot, they're right on par with Starbucks) and flash Jade's photograph to anyone who will give it a second glance. "Have you seen this girl?" I must ask that a thousand times. "Have you seen her?"

I keep working off of the receipts in my pocket, too, dropping by the maid service she'd hired, but according to them, she hasn't sent for them in weeks. I sigh. Of course she hasn't. That'd make this too damned easy. I thank them and leave, fishing her pay stub from _Wicked_ out of my pocket. I shrug to myself and start heading in the direction of the Gershwin Theatre. I know she hasn't shown up for work in awhile, and that there's about a snowball's chance in hell of her being there today, but still, maybe someone there will know something.

It's a weird time of day to be at a theatre- matinee is over, but the doors haven't opened for the evening show yet- so the only person there is the elderly, green-uniformed doorman, standing under the huge black, green, and white marquee. I hurry up to him, but before he can even greet me, I'm desperately shoving the picture of Jade in his face. "Have you seen her?" I plead, the familiar words escaping my lips yet again. " _Please,_ " I beg. "Anything. Anything at all. Even if you don't think it's important, it might be. Please."

The doorman just looks at me sorrowfully, pressing the worn and rumpled photo back into my hand. "You're not the only one wanting her found, son," he begins softly. "She was such a sweetheart, I hate to think of anything happening to her. I wish I knew something. I really do- but I just don't. And if the NYPD haven't turned up anything, then I doubt there's much left to do. I'm afraid Miss Jadelyn may be gone for good." He reaches out and gently pats me on the shoulder, like he's afraid I'll break at his touch. "I'm not saying you should mourn her, just that- she's a complex girl. She can take care of herself. If she'd wanted to be found, you'd've found her by now. And judging by the look on your face, I think you already know that." He sighs, flicking the fringe on his black epaulet. "I don't know what to tell you, other than... perhaps it's best if you just let this one go."

I hang my head, defeated. "Maybe you're right," I admit. "I just- I just really, _really_ wanted to find her, you know? I had some things I needed to make right."

"You'll forgive yourself in time, and she will, too," he assures me. "And when you do, you'll still have her in your memory. That's the most important thing."

"I guess so." I don't know what else to say. I turn and start to trudge away, my shoulders sagging like I'm carrying the weight of the world. Actually, now that I think about it, that isn't really so far from the truth.

But something he's said stands out in my mind; I can almost feel the lightbulb in my head going off. I whip back around to face the doorman again. "Wait, run that by me again," I demand. " _What_ did you just say?"

He stares down at me, clearly startled by my sudden intensity. "I said- I just said that, you know, you'll always have the memories of the times you spent with her-"

_Memories. **That's it.**_

I can't help myself. I rush forward and throw my arms around the man. "Thank you," I tell him as I wrap him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Y-you're welcome," he stutters. He pulls away, clearly taken aback, and smoothes his rumpled uniform. "Um, I'm glad I could help."

He eyes me warily as I all but sprint away from the theatre. He doesn't have any clue about it, but he's just given me the best idea I've gotten since I came to New York. I open the navigation app on my phone and type an address into it so I can let it guide me through the streets. I know now where I have to go.

 

Memories are a strange thing, you know. You make them without meaning to, and you have some that are important, some that are mundane, and some that aren't even real, but are instead just a construct; a fabrication your mind placed into itself to fill a hole, and you have no idea that what you're remembering never actually happened at all. You'd swear on your life that it was the truth, because you'd spent so long believing it. You only know differently when someone tells you otherwise. But I don't _need_ anyone to set me straight- this is different. I already know. My memories of Jade are not false. There are no holes in them. They are as bright and vivid and hard as sunlight, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are the truth. And I know that, somewhere, memories of who we used to be together have to still mean something to her, too. After all, she's the one who used to say "Everything's got a memory." And it does. And maybe that's the trouble- maybe there was something that happened to her to scar her, something she just couldn't let go of, and it took her over until it drove her to her breaking point.

And maybe that something was me.

Her apartment was full of pieces of her past, pieces of me- the playbill from when we'd seen _Wicked_ from school. My old shirt wrapped around her pillow. Our graduation photo, collecting dust on the shelf. Her washer necklace seemingly the _only_ thing missing from the collection of jewelry in the bowl on her counter. All of these things are connected, somehow. I'm the only thing that joins them together. I didn't see it before, but I _do_ now.

I don't know how I know it, but I do. I just... _know_. I'm more sure of it than anything.

I know where she is.

I cross the street to the building that I've been looking for and head inside, joining the line that's forming near the front desk.

The Empire State Building.

The last place we'd been to on our trip here with Hollywood Arts.

The place where Jade and I had snuck off and kissed and looked at the lights and the stars.

The place where we were in love.

I pay my admission and follow the crowd into the elevator, trying to remain calm as we slowly tick upward, floor by floor. At last, the doors open, and I _want_ nothing more than to sprint out, but I restrain myself, casually stepping out onto the observation deck with my hands in my pockets. At first, it's hard to see past the swarm of tourists, but as I scan the sea of faces again and again, eventually something catches my eye: a girl, facing away from me, crammed into a corner of the deck. She's dressed in a black peacoat that is several sizes too large for her, almost seeming to swallow her willowy frame. Her black hair cascades down her shoulders in unruly waves, whipping around her face with every gust of wind. Something small and silver dangles from her fingertips, over the rail.

I walk over to her slowly, edging up beside her. Large black sunglasses hide her face, and when I near her, she doesn't even move a muscle.

"Fuck off."

I glance down at the washer necklace in her hands.

"Jade," I say simply.

She freezes, then cocks her head to look at me from the corner of her eye. "What the _fuck_ are you doing here?"

 

* * *

**Author's Note**

I know I promised this to you guys awhile back, just got a little sidetracked! Anyway, here it is. I know it's a little on the short side, but the next chapter will far more than make up for that. I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought- reviews are always welcome!


	16. Converse

I still can't really believe what I'm seeing.

She's here. She's right  _here._ She's standing right in front of me.

I reach out to brush my hand against her shoulder- it's been so long since I've seen her, I feel like I just  _have_ to touch her, you know? I have to make sure she's real. But the second my fingertips touch her sleeve, she jerks away like she's been branded or something: "Don't."

"Jade," I say, shaking my head. I can't help but be a little stung.

"You do realize that you never did answer my question." Her voice is carefully controlled, her words tight and clipped and totally devoid of any emotion. "So, for your benefit, I'll ask you again: what the fuck are you  _doing_ here?"

Even her huge sunglasses can't mask the way her brow is furrowed in rage. It's such a contrast to the way she's speaking that it almost takes me aback. Yeah, I'd been an asshole, but that'd been over a year ago. I'd known that Jade could hold one hell of a grudge, but I can't understand why she'd still be pissed at me after all this time.

"Why am I  _here?"_ I repeat. "Are you kidding me right now? You do realize that everyone thinks you're missing, right?"

Jade laughs. It's a hollow sound, one that nearly sends a shiver up my spine when I hear it. "I know. It's hilarious, really. Of all the shitty things in this city that could and  _should_ be all over the news- all the crime and homelessness and god knows what else- instead they decide to plaster  _me_  on every channel at every opportunity. It's disgusting." She shakes her head. "Since you still haven't told me otherwise, I'm just going to have to assume that somehow you got wind of me being 'gone' and decided to come out here on your white horse to find and rescue your poor little damsel in distress." When I don't answer, she scoffs. "I knew it. Your chivalry, while appreciated, was always terribly misguided, and this is no exception." Jade pushes her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose and draws her peacoat more tightly around her.  _"I'm_ gonna be the hero of my own story this time, okay? I don't need you to save me. I never have."

I shake my head in disbelief. I just don't understand; this isn't the Jade I know. The way she's talking makes it sound like- like she made people think she'd disappeared on  _purpose._ Not only that, but the underlying warmth she'd had; that fire that I'd so loved about her? It's burned out, and I get the feeling that her iciness has started to seep much deeper than it had when we were in high school. Her walls aren't only back up, they're higher and stronger than they ever were before, and from the way she's acting, I can tell she doesn't intend on letting them down anytime soon.

But that doesn't mean that I don't have to try to convince her.

I glance back at her. The frayed, faded washer necklace is still threaded between her fingers.

"Jade."

She slowly tips her head up to look at me.

"Look," I say carefully, "I- I know the way we ended things was- it was bad." I feel a prickle of guilt in the pit of my stomach as I recall our last conversation, the things I'd shouted at her in anger before she'd tearfully stomped out of the trailer and jetted off to a new life without ever looking back. "And I don't know what's happened since then, but- being on Broadway was all you ever wanted. Don't think I don't know that. I can't even begin to imagine what would make you think about giving it up when I know it means so much to you."

She's silent. I can't tell if she's listening or not, but at least she's not shouting me down. I guess that's something.

"As for me," I continue, "I didn't come out here with anything but the best of intentions. I wasn't expecting to be your knight in shining armor or anything like that, I just needed to find you. I needed to know that you were okay."

"Why do you care?"

I reach out and trace a fingertip over the shiny washer in her hand. "I meant something to you once," I say simply. I tug my own necklace out from under my collar to show it to her. "And you sure as hell meant something to me. You still do.  _That's_ why I'm here. You're the only person that I've ever been sure that I love. And even if it means never seeing you again, I had to find you. I had to see that you were okay. If you're alright, I'm alright. I just couldn't stand the thought of anything happening to you."

"Well, nothing did. I'm fine. Just go back to California. I don't need you. You mean less than nothing to me."

"If that's true," I say gently, "Then what are you doing here? Look where you are, Jade. Look." I point to the opposite corner of the observation deck. "Remember standing there? With me? Making me promise that we'd back here someday? And what about this?" I point to her necklace, my voice starting rise. I can tell I'm on the verge of getting frantic. "Remember when you gave me that? It was our first anniversary. Remember? I took you to Cirque du Soleil and told you I loved you and it was perfect, Jade, I just-"

"Maybe I don't  _want_ to remember," she says coldly. She finally reaches up and snatches her sunglasses off of her face, and her eyes lock with mine, full of cold fury. I swear, she could freeze me right where I stand. "Maybe I want nothing more than to fucking forget you. Not even that- I want to just erase you and never have to think about you or the five goddamn years I wasted with you. And maybe I brought that shitty necklace here so I could throw it as far as I could send it. I don't want it to mean anything to me anymore. I don't want  _you_ to mean anything to me anymore. I don't want any of this."

"Everything's got a memory," I say, echoing her old saying.

"Yeah." She throws the necklace onto the ground in front of her, grinding it into the concrete with the toe of her boot before stomping off toward the elevators. "I sure as hell wish it didn't."

* * *

**Author's Note**

I know I'm the literal worst for making y'all wait so long for this update. I studied abroad last semester and that ate up a lot of my time, and to be honest I was having a lot of personal issues earlier this year that pretty much drained me of any and all inspiration or motivation. But I'm back now. Let's get going.

As always, reviews are welcome and appreciated! :)


	17. Swing

_No._ I don't care what she says, I am  _not_ about to lose her again. She's going to hear me out, goddammit; she is going to  _listen_ to what I have to say.

I set my jaw and turn on my heel to follow her.

Jade's only made it a few steps when she realizes I'm right behind her. "Fuck  _off,"_ she hisses. "Can't you tell that I don't want to see you? Leave me  _alone."_

"Look, Jade, I didn't come all the goddamned way out here just to have you give me some bullshit about how you're still pissed about something that happened a year and a half ago," I spit. I can't help myself; I guess I'd deluded myself into thinking that I'd find her and we'd, I don't know, run off into the  _sunset_  together or something like that, and the fact that what's happening is so completely different is throwing me off the rails. I'd planned everything I was going to say, and she won't even  _listen._ It reminds me of how we used to fight back in high school, berating each other and screaming ourselves hoarse until one of us finally broke down and croaked out an apology. But not this time. Not after I've come all this way. No way in hell am I going to cave right now.

I can feel a vein jumping in my neck, like it always does when I get a little heated. I notice a tourist eyeing us suspiciously, so I grab her elbow and pull her back into our corner before she can protest, holding her fast even as she tries to pull away. "Yeah, maybe towards the end I said and did some things that I shouldn't have, and I'm sorry for that, but you don't get to be mad at me forever. Jesus, Jade, at some point you just need to build a bridge and  _get the fuck_ _ **over it."**_

" _Fuck_ you!"

"Fuck  _you!"_ I shoot back.

Jade's dark blue eyes narrow, and at first I think it's from anger, but then... her face crumples. Her chin drops toward her chest, and I'm horrified to see a tear run down her cheek.

Oh, shit. Not again.

I'm still holding her arm, but I can feel the tense muscles relax under my fingers; she's not straining to pull away from me anymore.

We're quiet for a moment, her soft, whimpering cries the only sound breaking our silence.

I venture forward. "...Jade?"

She won't look at me. Another silent sob shakes her shoulders and she reaches up to wipe her face with the sleeve of her huge peacoat.

I try again. "Jade."

"It's not supposed to be like this," she mutters, more to herself than to me. "They told me it'd be easier this time, but it's not. It's worse. It's not fair."

"What? Jade, what are you talking about-"

"You shouldn't be here," she says softly. "Just go, okay? You'll only make it worse."

She's really starting to freak me out now. I have absolutely no idea what she could possibly be talking about.

I shove my hands in my pockets, wincing as one of my stitches catches on the denim. My fingers close around the bundle of receipts and papers nestled up against my wallet. It's only then that I remember just how pivotal one of them is.

The receipt from Duane Reade. The note from the pharmacist. How could I have forgotten?

I'd been outraged before, caught up in the heat of the moment, but now... my boiling anger has reduced to a simmer. Something in my chest aches as I look at her, so tiny and fragile, loose tendrils of black hair slapping her in the face as she shivers in the cold wind.

I can't be angry at her. She isn't okay.

I have to get her down from here. I have to get her to somewhere safe.

"Jade." I step forward and put a hand on her shoulder. She doesn't shake it off, but she doesn't acknowledge it, either. "First of all, I'm not going. Not until I know you're taken care of. As soon as I do, if that's what you want, then I'm gone. I swear." I wince. I really hope that's a promise that I'm not going to have to keep. "And... and secondly, I'm sorry. Okay, baby? I am really, really sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It wasn't cool."

"No, you shouldn't have." She sniffles again, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I know." Cautiously, I slide my hand up from her shoulder to cradle the back of her neck. She used to like that. "Let me get you out of here, baby, okay? It's too cold for this."

Jade eyes me warily. "And take me where?"

"Wherever you want." This isn't an offer I especially want to make, particularly since I have no idea where she could want to go, but I do it anyway. She's listening to me for now, and I don't want to mess that up.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"I wanna go home," she says softly.

I look at her, trying to read her expression. Her change in mood had been sudden, but that had probably been my fault; after all, I'd been the one who'd pushed her. She's not crying anymore, but the distant and tired look in her eyes tells me that it could easily happen again.

"Are... are you sure that's a good idea?" I ask. I don't want to set her off, but I still have to be at least slightly cautious about this. "What if the police are still watching your apartment?"

Jade shakes her head. "They aren't. I haven't been there lately, but I've been keeping an eye on the place. After about the third day, they quit showing up. There's a lot of crime in this city, Beck. Lots of things to investigate that are far more important than I am." She scuffs the toe of her boot against the ground. "And you  _promised."_

"I did, didn't I?" I turn and start heading towards the door. "Come on. Let's go."

Somewhere between the observation deck and the elevators, my hand finds hers.

She doesn't pull away.

* * *

**Author's Note**

So I know the last two chapters have been a little bit shorter than what y'all might be accustomed to seeing from me, but I think that it'll be better for the story in the long run, plus it'll enable me to update more frequently. (I write when I can, but college gets crazy, and I don't want to leave you guys hanging.) Let me know what you think of the change and please let me know how you're liking the story! I absolutely love hearing from y'all. Look for another update soon. :)


	18. Flare

EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO

It happens slowly at first.

She spends more and more time away, gone for hours without telling me where. She stops kissing me on the cheek when I come home from work. I always have to repeat myself when I'm talking to her, like she's never really listening. She seems distracted. She seems miles away.

It happens slowly. But it does happen.

She doesn't sing in the shower anymore. Hell, she hardly ever sings at all. She doesn't come visit me at work. The coffee I make her every morning- black with two sugars- always goes down the sink after breakfast, untouched and cold.

Then it gets worse.

We haven't had sex in weeks. She used to love being the little spoon, and I loved falling asleep with her in my arms, but that's just a memory now. She sleeps entirely on her side of the bed, like she's trying to get as far away from me as possible. Sometimes, she even gets up and goes to sleep on the couch. Like she can't stand to be near me.

After a lot of coaxing, I manage to talk her into going on a date to the pier. She wolfs down three corn dogs and a funnel cake, but then she cries when she doesn't win a cheap stuffed animal at the ring toss. I try to cheer her up by promising to take her on the Ferris wheel and her favorite roller coaster, but she won't go. She won't tell me why. We drive back to the trailer in silence and her fingers are limp when I take her hand. It's not until I glance at her that I realize she's asleep.

I hug her after my shower one day, when I'm totally clean and smell like the cologne I know she likes, the one she got me for my birthday. She jerks away and I think I actually hear her gag once or twice as she opens the door to let fresh air in. Like I repulse her. Like I make her sick.

I buy us a bottle of champagne one night. She clinks glasses half-heartedly, then sets hers down. She watches wordlessly as I drink mine, the only sound between us the popping of bubbles as the carbonation fizzes out of her glass. She leaves it to go flat, saying she has a headache and wants to go to bed early. I pour it on the stubborn weeds outside. Unlike us, they still refuse to die.

I'm losing her. And the worst part is, I can't even understand why.

One evening, maybe three months since this all started, we're sitting at the table in my tiny trailer. She's reading a book.  _Go Ask Alice._ "What's wrong?" I ask her.

"Nothing." She turns the page. Of course not. It's always nothing.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Of course not, Beckett. Don't be ridiculous." Right. She's the one acting like I'm a total stranger, like we  _haven't_ been dating for almost five years, like we don't know every inch of each other inside and out.

"Then why are you acting like you are?" I can't help this one. She's icing me out like she used to in high school, like the silent treatment she used to give me until I figured out what I'd done wrong.

"I'm not acting like anything."

"Is there someone else?" The words fall off my tongue before I can stop myself. It's the only logical explanation that I can think of. There's someone else, there has to be; she's gradually weeding out bits of our relationship until she can slip away from me.

"What are you talking about?"

"Is. There. Someone. Else."

"I'm not having this conversation."

"That's not a no."

"It's not a yes either! Jesus, Beck! Don't be so paranoid!"

"Don't call me paranoid!" I yell, slamming my fist on the table. She jumps. Her book tumbles to the floor.

"Beck, I-"

"No, Jade!" I shout her down. I'm furious now; I'm screaming at her like I never have before, but I just can't seem to  _stop- "_ You- you can't keep stringing me along like this, okay? I know this-" I gesture to our surroundings- "I know this isn't how you planned your life, alright? But you're not doing me any favors with this whole charade! You're distant, you don't want anything to  _do_ with me! You don't act like that if you love someone! If there's someone else, fine! Go! But don't expect me to sit here and wait around grinning like an oblivious fucking fool while  _you_ go fuck whoever it is that you've been shacking up with like a goddamned whore!"

She's quiet for a moment. I'm breathing hard. I can feel a vein jumping in my temple.

Jade looks up at me, her bright blue eyes even brighter with unshed tears.

My anger quells in an instant. I go to her, try to put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off.

"Jade, baby, I'm so sorry, I love you-" I stammer out.

She swipes her fist across her eyes, dragging a blurry line of melted mascara along her temple.

"I know you do, Beck," she whispers, folding her arms across her chest. "And I love you, too. With all my heart. And that's just the problem."

* * *

**Author's Note**

Short flashback chapter, bringing us full circle to the fight that caused Beck and Jade to break up in the first place. I know it's a little different than the way my chapters are usually structured, but that was intentional- you'll see. ;) Just wait til the next chapter- it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

I hope you enjoyed it! I'm sorry it took me so long. Reviews are welcome and appreciated!


	19. Plot

 

“Jade,” I say, carefully, “I don't think I can take you home right now.”

 

She shifts her weight against the elevator wall beside me, crossing her arms over her chest. “But you said--”

 

“I know what I said. But, look, even if the police aren't gonna be there, your doorman is. Your neighbors are. And they'll recognize us both. They might think I did something to you. I--”

 

“Wait.” She cuts in. “Why would they recognize you?”

 

I clear my throat and focus my eyes on the panel of buttons in front of me, watching the floors slowly tick down, one by one. “Like I told you, I came to find you. And I've been looking everywhere.”

 

“You-- you went to my house?”

 

“Yeah,” I say carefully. I can hear the irritation in her voice, as well as a trace of something else-- that can’t be-- it can’t be fear, can it? I brush the thought away almost as quickly as it had come. She's always been a pretty private person, and even though she'd just now wanted me to take her home, I know she's probably less than thrilled about me having been there already. “I--”

 

“You're right.”

 

“What?”

 

“You're right,” she repeats. She lets out a defeated groan. “If we go there, if anyone saw you with me at all, they'd probably think you, like, kidnapped me or something. And as much as I'm not enjoying you being here unannounced, dealing with all of that is definitely not something I'm up for right now.” She pauses, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I just want to go somewhere-- away from people-- where I can get warm, have some coffee, and chill. Sort things out.” She turns back to me. “You got anywhere like that?”

 

“Uh... hotel room in Midtown.”

 

“Better than nothing,” she sighs.

 

I frown. That familiar sarcastic edge has set itself back into her voice, and she looks utterly bored as we ride the rest of the way down in silence.

 

After what feels like forever, the elevator finally dings. We step out of it into the polished marble lobby and head straight for the doors, wanting to get out of there before anyone recognizes Jade. It's still unseasonably cool outside, and I pull my jacket more tightly around myself, trying to stay warm against the biting wind that whistles through the buildings. Jade, on the other hand, doesn't seem to notice. She ambles along beside me, her black peacoat looking comically huge on her as it flaps around her knees. Even with her sunglasses covering half her face, I can still see how beautiful she is when I steal a glance at her; I can recognize all the lines that make her up. There’s something comforting about it, because even though she’s definitely different; there are clearly things about her that I don’t know-- my conversation with Cassie in the coffee shop had told me as much-- there are some achingly familiar traits in her, too.

 

Jade still stomps along with the same swingy gait, swaying her hips like each step is being taken down a runway. She still stares at her feet as she walks, carefully avoiding every crack on the sidewalk, a habit that I know she’s carried with her since childhood, when her mom actually did fall off of a ladder while painting the ceiling in their living room and break several of her vertebrae. I remember Jade telling me that she’d accidentally stepped on a crack earlier that week while playing hopscotch during recess, and she’d spent months thinking that her mom’s accident was her fault and beating herself up about it. She’s always been like that; tender-hearted, though she’d never admit it, to the point of causing herself far more pain than whoever she’d been empathizing with in the first place.

 

She's thin. Painfully thin. Above the lapels of her coat, I can see her collarbone jutting out of the white expanse of her chest. I rake my gaze upward. Her cheekbones are even more prominent now: the deep hollows of her cheeks are sloping toward her jaw at a nearly extreme angle. Her hands are still weighed down with far too many squiggly silver rings, her fingers pale and nearly skeletal beneath them. Her dark grey nail polish is chipped, which I know is probably driving her crazy. She still has a silvery scar near her temple that I know is from a bike accident that sent her tumbling to the pavement when she was eight. I used to brush my lips against it when I’d kiss her hair, which is dyed jet black, just like it always was in high school. It falls down her back in messy waves, curling around where her shoulder blades are stiffly poking through the wool of her peacoat. It almost looks like she's hiding a secret pair of wings and could unfurl them to take flight any second, never to be seen again. It’s not like she hasn’t done it before.

 

I want to hold her hand. I want to lace our fingers together and feel her palm pressed against mine. I want to be the thing that grounds her. But I can't. I gave up that privilege a long time ago. So, I shove my hands deeper into my pockets and just look at her, like she's a work of art to be admired, but not to be touched. It just seems like the simplest course of action for right now.

 

Jade hasn’t said anything since we got off of the elevator a few blocks back. She’s sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, the way she always used to do when she was thinking really hard. I used to tease her that she’d end up biting it off if she wasn’t careful, and it used to make her smile, but it doesn’t feel like something I should bring up right now. I don’t quite know why.

 

It’s strange, I think. Even after all this time, even though she might not want me to, I still know all these things about her. I still think about her constantly. I wonder if she ever thinks about me, or if she tries not to; if I’m just a bad dream she’s trying to wake up from. I wouldn’t blame her if that was true.

 

I hope it isn’t.

 

She turns her head to look for oncoming traffic and catches me looking at her. Her eyebrows shoot upward. I flush and turn away, fixing my eyes on the sidewalk beneath us.

 

I hadn’t thought that I would come out here and everything would magically go back to the way it was before we broke up, but I guess I didn’t expect the distance between us to be quite this palpable. She just seems so fragile. Like an egg, I muse. Whole; together, but very easily crushed. I think back to what Cassie had told me at the coffee shop, about how Jade had come in so upset, screaming about a secret she’d planned on keeping from me. Will she tell me what it is if I ask her, or will I just send her fleeing again? There’s no denying that I was the one who’d broken us before. I wonder if we can rebuild, or if the bridge between us is wrecked beyond repair.

 

Can we fix this? Would she even want to?

 

I’m still pondering when she breaks the silence.

 

“I just realized we've been walking for, like, five blocks, and I still don't know where we're going.”

 

“Oh. Um, the Grisham in Midtown.”

She nods. “Not exactly five-star accommodation, but not total shit, either.”

 

“My room has a coffee maker,” I offer.

 

Another nod. “Good.”

 

“It's a few blocks away, though. We can get a cab, if you want.” I don't even want to think about how much cab fare is going to set me back, but since my mom handled the hotel room and Robbie had covered my subway fare, I can probably afford it. Anyway, I feel like I should at least offer.

 

But she shakes her head. “No, I'm good. We'll probably get there faster if we walk.”

 

Glancing at the heavy traffic snaking through the street beside us, I realize she's right.

 

We walk the rest of the way to the hotel in utter silence, directly beside each other the whole time. I don’t even need to lead the way. She seems to know exactly where she’s going, which makes sense, considering that this is her city now. It isn’t long before we reach the hotel and enter the lobby. Julia’s working the front desk again and greets me, a little too warmly. I hope Jade doesn’t notice.

 

She does, though. Of course she does.

 

“Well, she was friendly,” Jade smirks.

 

I roll my eyes and follow her into the elevator, slapping my palm against the button marked with my floor. “Just doing her job.”

 

“I didn’t think that being a receptionist at a hotel required making goo-goo eyes at the guests.”

 

This time, I don’t dignify her with a response.

 

After what seems like forever, we arrive on my floor, and she follows me to my room. I pull out my key card to open the door, but with my bandaged hand, I’m having a little trouble handling it. Jade lets out an exasperated sigh and snatches it from me, easily opening the door in one swipe.

 

Once we’re in, she immediately notices the shattered glass littering the floor of the bathroom directly to her left. She glances from it to my hand and back again, and I can tell she’s curious, but she thankfully doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just heads over to the radiator that slouches in front of the window and sits on the floor in front of it, leaning her back against the warm metal.

 

“You’re gonna get hot there.”

 

“That’s the idea, dumbass. I’m freezing my tits off.”

 

Rolling my eyes, I turn around and set about making a fresh pot of coffee. When it’s ready, I pour hers first, stirring two packets of sugar into it. I carry it across the room to where she’s curled up on the floor, kneel down to her level so I can hand it to her. She must have been dozing-- she jumps at first.

 

“Sorry,” she mutters. “You scared me.”

 

“My bad.” I offer her the steaming cup. “Here.”

 

Jade reaches up and pushes her sunglasses on top of her head. Her cerulean eyes are ringed with dark circles, like she hasn’t slept in weeks. I decide not to ask about it.

 

“Thanks,” she says. She puts the cup to her lips and takes a long drink, sighing contentedly after she swallows. “I have to hand it to you, Beck,” she tells me, “You might be an asshole, but you always did make a damn good cup of coffee.”

 

I shift to a sitting position beside her. “So.”

 

“So what?”

 

“So…” I can’t figure out how to phrase this right without pissing her off. “So are we gonna… I don’t know… talk about this?”

 

She laughs. She actually fucking laughs.

 

“There’s nothing to talk about. We broke up. You’re a jerk. It’s pretty concise. Don’t even need SparkNotes to understand that one.”

 

I sigh. “Look, I know things ended badly, and I wish I could change that. You have no idea how much. I know I can’t erase everything I did, but I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“You’re lying.”

 

She scowls. I know I’ve got her with that one.

 

“This is fucking stupid. You shouldn’t even be here.”

 

“And yet here I am, and there you are.”

 

“I’m not going to sit here and play your little mind games, Beckett. If I wanted to talk to you, I would’ve done it by now.”

 

“Why’d you unblock my number if you didn’t want to talk to me?”

 

She shrugs. “I got a new phone.”

 

“Is that really all?”

 

Jade sets her Styrofoam cup on the ground beside her and stares at me, that familiar, icy glare etched into her face. “Yes. That’s all. Look, Beck, not everything is some big, deep, dark secret, okay? Sometimes people just grow apart and there’s no use trying to force them back together just because it’s what’s comfortable.”

 

But there is a secret. I know there is. She’s lying. Again. She’s clearly not going to tell me what about, so I decide to just let this one go. “Fine.”

 

“Fine.”

 

We sit in silence for a little while. I’m trying to come up with a plan, but I can’t think of anything, and I can’t call Robbie or Andre while she’s here or she’ll know I’m up to something.

 

“Look,” I say finally. “I’m gonna go out and get some more shit for my hand, maybe go for a beer or something. You wanna come?”

 

“I can’t think of anything I’d like less.” She yawns. “If you’re gonna be gone, then I don’t see any reason why I can’t take a nap here. Right.”

 

“Fine.” I try not to sound too eager-- she’s playing directly into my plan. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Okay?”

 

“Whatever.”

 

“I love you,” I mutter under my breath. I can’t help it. It’s habit. I hope she doesn’t hear me.

 

She scoffs. “No. You don’t.”

* * *

 

 

Author’s Note

 

Long chapter, slightly filler-y, but the next one will have a bombshell. I hope you guys are ready.

 

I hope you liked it! Feel free to leave me a review, I love hearing what y’all have to say. :)


	20. Bombshell

I practically sprint out of the hotel room.

I don’t even bother to take the time to use the elevator. Instead, I head straight for the staircase, taking them two at a time, my footfalls creating a loud echo with each step that I take.

I have to get out of here. I have to, before she changes her mind and decides to follow me. God, knowing my luck, that’s exactly what will happen.

But it doesn’t.

By the time I get down to the lobby, I’m flushed and out of breath, and I can feel my injured hand throbbing due to the pounding of my heart, which feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest. I fly by Julia as I pass the front desk. She eyes me somewhat warily, but doesn’t say anything, which is just as well. I’m on a mission, dammit. I don’t have _time_ for small talk with some random girl that I don’t know, even if she _does_ keep making eyes at me.

I storm out of the building and hail a cab. I don’t care how much it’s going to cost. I have to do this.

There has to be something that I missed. The receipts and stuff that I had found earlier were all well and good, and yeah, they did give me a few more leads, but I still don’t have an answer. I still don’t know what the secret that Cassie had mentioned could be. I still have no idea why she’s taking such strong antidepressant pills, even though I definitely think that both of those things have something to do with me

I still don’t know what caused the little, unmistakable warble of fear to course through her voice when we’d spoken earlier.

I have to do this. I have to do it before I lose my nerve, or, what’s even more terrifying to consider, if she catches up with me.

I have to go back to her apartment.

There’s still just so fucking much that I just do not know and it’s absolutely infuriating. Everything that I had found out so far has just sent me on even more of a wild goose chase, criss-crossing the city over and over again, but still barely turning up with any more information than I’d had before. It was only a stroke of luck that I’d found her at all. She could so, so easily disappear again, and then all of this would have been for naught. Even if she doesn’t forgive me, even if she never wants to see me again, I have to understand what drove her out here in the first place, and what made the fierce, strong, terrible Jadelyn August West fall to her knees with such intensity that it had driven her to completely fucking disappear. I have to figure this out. I have to _know_ what it is so I can try to come up with at least some sort of game plan to get her on her feet again. Like I’d told her earlier, I’m not planning on going anywhere until I know she’s okay. And judging from her bony, wraith-like appearance, that’s definitely going to take some effort--

The taxi driver slams on his brakes directly outside of Jade’s foreboding apartment building, throwing me forward into my seatbelt and violently jarring me from my thoughts.

“That’ll be ten fifty,” he grunts.

I hand over my debit card, which he swipes through his meter so roughly I wince, thinking he might break it in half. He offers it back to me and I all but snatch it from his tobacco-stained fingertips, sliding it directly into my pocket, not even bothering to fumble for my wallet.

I’ve barely closed the door before he roars away, leaving me choking on a cloud of putrid exhaust. Asshole.

I enter the building, again not bothering with the elevator, opting for the stairs instead even though Jade lives on the seventh floor. I find her apartment easily, snatching the key from underneath that smug little fucking gargoyle and opening the door.

It’s all the same. Photo of us on the bookshelf. Bowl of jewelry on the counter. Framed playbills on the walls. But, this time, I need to look deeper than just what I can plainly see; I need to find what sorts of secrets might be lying in wait.

I start with her bed, folding back the purple covers. My shirt is still carefully buttoned around her pillow, but there’s really nothing else. I turn to her nightstand, opening the single drawer. Inside I find her PearPhone in its black studded case, very dead. Even though I’m unbelievably tempted by what I imagine could be a veritable treasure trove of information, I decide to leave it. I’d never gone through her phone, not even when we were dating, and I can’t bring myself to consider starting now. Besides, I have no idea where her charger is.

I slide the drawer shut, and I’m about to leave the room when I see a door on the opposite wall that I hadn’t noticed before. I know it’s not her closet-- that’s standing open on the north wall, filled with varying shades of soft blacks and purples and blues.

The bathroom. Of course.

How had I not noticed it before? Girls keep all kinds of shit in there. I remember when we were dating and she’d spend the night at my trailer, in less than five minutes she’d have nearly every surface in my microscopic bathroom covered with various bottles and tubes, her huge faux snakeskin makeup bag slouching on the back of the toilet. I used to tease her about it.

I open the door and step inside, flicking the light on. It’s bigger than I’d thought it’d be, and far cleaner, but then, the rest of her house is totally immaculate, too. The shower gleams a brilliant white, a stainless steel caddy standing in the corner to hold her shampoo and conditioner. One of those white, poofy net things hangs from the shower head. A bar of soap rests in an opposite corner. Her razor is snapped neatly into a holder that is held to the tiled wall by suction cups.

A black dressing table stands against the wall, right by the window. I open the top and find all her various makeup supplies inside. There’s a little basket for brushes, her lipstick lined up neatly down the side. A row of dark nail polishes marches along the bottom.

It’s all so pristine, so careful and uniform.

Just like most of the rest of the place, it’s all so…. _not her._

I turn to the vanity that takes up most of the space. It is also brilliantly clean, made of a rippling grey marble that’s been polished to a high sheen, topped off with a mirrored cabinet capped with a soft white light. A single bottle of face wash sits beside the tap. Her toothbrush is displayed on the other side, resting in a small chrome holder. A matching towel bar is screwed into the wall beside the mirror, a single white hand towel with a black embroidered rose hanging from it.

I open one side of the cabinet. Tweezers, Tylenol, fingernail clippers, allergy medicine-- but wait. An orange prescription bottle, almost completely full. I pick it up and inspect the date printed on it; it matches the receipt with the note from the doctor that I’d already found. Her antidepressants. I pocket them.

I turn to leave. I’m just about to walk out when I notice one last thing.

There’s a small, square, black and white picture taped to the opposite corner of the mirror. It’s so unobtrusive, I’d very nearly overlooked it. I can’t tell what it is.

I reach out and slit the tape with my fingernail. The photo falls face down on the countertop.

I pick it up.

It’s what appears to be a black shape, with a smaller white blob in the middle.

I can’t tell what it is.

But wait, there’s something typed across the top. My fingers are covering the letters, so I shift the photo, resting it in my palm so that I can read what it says.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for this.

In small, white, block letters across the top of the black background, the picture reads the following:

 

_UCLA OBSTETRICS_

_PATIENT NAME: WEST, J_

_DOB: 26 JULY 1992_

_GA: 12W 2D_

 

It’s dated roughly eighteen months ago.

* * *

**Author’s Note**

And there we are. Climax.

I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think. Were you expecting that? ;)

  
  



	21. Contemplations

I actually can't even fucking breathe.

Somehow, I manage to find my way to the bathtub, legs nearly giving out as I lower myself to sit on its polished edge. My hands are violently trembling as I look at the photo, to the point where I can feel my stitches pulling slightly. It hurts, but I barely even notice; I'm too busy reading and re-reading the information printed on the picture again and again, as if I anticipate that it might change before my very eyes.

_UCLA OBSTETRICS_

_PATIENT NAME: WEST, J_

_DOB: 26 JULY 1992_

_GA: 12W 3D_

It's all coming together for me now, the once random and mismatched puzzle pieces snapping neatly together in my mind. This explains it all- why she had been so distant, so moody; why she had stopped smoking and drinking her coffee when she'd never had any interest in doing so before; why she'd refused to go on any rides on that last date that we'd had at the pier. It all makes a sickening amount of sense now. I don't know how I didn't put it together before-

Jade had been pregnant. And I'd had absolutely no idea.

My vision blurs as I stare down at the sonogram image in my hand, the already fuzzy black and white shapes becoming even more indistinguishable as my eyes fill with tears.

I am certain that this has to be the secret that Cassie, the barista at DeBeen, had mentioned to me when I had spoken to her earlier in the week. It has to be what she had overheard Jade talking about when she had come into the shop for the first time all those months ago; what she'd sworn she could and would handle on her own.

Just like I thought, the secret she'd been keeping has something to do with me.

I was right. But I have never so fervently wished that I wasn't.

This is what you have to understand- before, whenever I thought of my future, I always saw Jade standing there- I had these images, these ideas of the life I used to plan for us.

When we were younger, so foolish and happy, I'd thought about how, one day, I'd marry her. I'd swap the cheap rings we wore as necklaces for real ones and we'd start our lives together. And maybe we'd both go the show biz route for awhile, but eventually, we'd end up back in Los Angeles, with a big house and a dog and- and a couple of kids running around. Maybe I'd teach at Hollywood Arts. Maybe we both would, with me teaching stage combat courses and Jade taking over improv class from Sikowitz. Or maybe she wouldn't, maybe instead Jade would be a playwright or something, doing a few movies a year, just for the pure love she had for the art of acting.

Maybe none of those things would ever happen at all, but we'd still be okay, because we'd have each other, and that'd be all that mattered. Didn't it? I'd always thought so. When nothing else made sense, Jade and I always did. She was the one thing that I knew I could always be sure of.

But, somewhere along the line, my pristine little plan got shattered, into a hopeless mosaic of broken promises filled with the fault lines of hurt feelings, and now there's  _this_ being thrown into the already unsolvable equation and I'd been confused before, but now I truly just don't even know what to do.

I draw a shaky breath and glance back down at the sonogram photo, which I'm clutching all too tightly in my hand, nearly crumpling it. I smooth it out in my lap. Looking at it, it feels like yet another reminder of the life we could've had, but it's more tangible, and far more painful somehow. It's a snapshot; an all-too-fleeting glance into the alternate path that our lives could've taken together, but what kills me is the knowledge that we'll never get to see the whole picture.

It hurts. And I'm angry. Dammit, I'm  _angry._

How could she have kept something like this from me? I can understand being hesitant to tell me at first, because we'd had scares like any couple would have had, and when the first one had happened, I'd been so afraid, staring down the barrel of fatherhood, that I  _know_  I wasn't exactly the most supportive person in the entire world. I'm sure I made her feel responsible, like it was entirely her fault, even though that couldn't possibly be farther from the truth. It had turned out to be nothing but a false alarm, but even so, we'd gotten past it. Like everything else that had ever come our way, we'd pushed through; we'd figured things out, and we'd done it together.

Why was this any different?

I have to know. And to do that, I have to ask her.

I tuck the little sonogram photo into my wallet. It feels impossibly heavy in my pocket; like I might stumble under the weight of it.

As I make my way back to my hotel, all I can think about is that my washer, fastened firmly on frayed string around my neck, no longer feels like the key to the universe.

It feels like the noose of the damned.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I know this is a long time coming and this chapter feels short and filler-y, but with how intense I am planning the next chapter to be, I felt like it made more sense to split them up. I hope to have that chapter up tomorrow or the next day.

I hope you enjoyed it! As always, reviews are welcomed and appreciated! :)


	22. Deceit

The journey back to my hotel is nothing but a surreal blur. I go through the motions of hailing another cab and giving the address, but it feels like I'm outside myself; like I'm watching someone else do those things instead. I try to settle back into the vinyl seat of the cab and take a few deep breaths, but it's no use. There's no calming me this time. All I can think about is my washer pulling tighter and tighter around my neck and the blurry black and white picture tucked away in my wallet and the fact that Jade lied to me, she lied to me,  _she fucking_ _ **lied**_ _to me-_

Before I know it, the cab roars to a stop at the curb in front of the Grisham. I pay and then just cram my debit card directly into the pocket of my jacket as I tumble out of the car, not even bothering to put it back in its proper place. I can feel my lips pressing into a firm line as I shove through the double doors into the lobby, and I guess even Julia can see that something's up, because she doesn't bother to greet me like she has before. It's just as well. After all, I have far more important things to do and way better things to say than the forced niceties that have previously been exchanged between us.

I'm walking so fast and with such purpose that the other guests milling around the lobby move aside to make way for me, their lingering gazes wary and confused as if they think I'm some kind of madman. Well, they aren't too far off.

Once I'm standing in front of the polished elevator doors, I press the 'up' button, and when they don't immediately open, I pound my fist against the panel ten more times, as if that'll somehow make the damn thing come faster. Looking at the little screen near the ceiling, I can see now that it is six floors above me. It'll take time to get here. Time I don't fucking have to spare. I curse under my breath and land a kick against the molding for good measure, ignoring the gasps and stares that it generates, then turn and sprint toward the stairwell in the opposite corner.

There's no one in there, thank fucking God. If there had been, I'd probably have all but mowed them down in my rush to make my ascent to my floor. I grip the painted metal rail with my good hand and dash up the steps, two at a time, as fast as I can. I manage to make it to the first landing before I trip over a loose lace on my boots and stumble. I'm going to fall. I can feel it. There's no regaining my balance. At this point, all I can do is let it happen. So I do. Reflexively, stupidly, I put my hands out to catch myself.

Sharp, searing pain explodes through my bandaged hand as it hits the concrete floor and skids under my weight. I can feel several of my stitches pop free, ripping through my already shredded skin and nearly blinding me with pure agony, the skin on the heel of my good hand scraping away while my knees find an equally heavy landing a few steps down, smashing into the ground so hard that I swear I can feel my entire skeleton vibrating from the force.

I don't bother to cry out. What's the point? What good would it do?

I'm still gasping from pain and exertion when I finally manage to heave myself back to my feet. Both of my hands are seeping blood from my tumble. Cursing, I tuck the offending lace deep into my boot, looping it under my heel so it can't pull free again. Piece of shit. I then reach into the plaid shirt I'm wearing underneath my jacket, and, gritting my teeth, tear away a strip of frayed fabric, taking care to yank it from under the pocket where it won't show. The already red flannels blushes to an even deeper shade of burgundy as I wind it around my palms.

I want to keep running like I had been before, but I'm not sure that I can; my balance feels off since I can't hold onto the railing. So instead of resuming my previous pace, I have to settle for slowly wobbling up the stairs one at a time. It's annoying at first. My heart is racing and my adrenaline pumping, both of them screaming at me to get my ass in gear. I set my jaw and keep going. It's slow, but steady. I'll get there eventually.

It takes the better part of an hour, but I finally manage to get up all of the stairs and back to my room. Realizing that I can't possibly manage all the maneuvers necessary to open the door, I swing my foot back and kick against it a couple of times. I'm wearing steel-toed work boots, so it doesn't hurt, but it sure makes one hell of a noise. I hear a distant, dull crash and some cursing before the door swings open to reveal a disheveled Jade glowering up at me.

"Seriously? I was  _just_ getting to sleep!"

I ignore her, pushing past her and heading into the bathroom to wash my hands, taking care to step over the shards of broken mirror that still litter the floor like some kind of fucked-up confetti. Once I'm all cleaned up, I can see that the scrapes aren't that bad, they'd just bled a hell of a lot. My stitches will definitely need to be repaired, though- I'll have to see if I can track down Fiona tomorrow and get her to redo them.

When I finally finish and look up from the sink, I find that Jade is hovering in the doorway, watching me curiously.

"What did you do to yourself  _this_ time?" she asks. There's a hint of mirth in her voice, and that only pisses me off even more. Now is hardly the time for her to be fucking laughing.

"I fell," I say tightly.

"On  _what?"_

"I tripped coming up the stairs and landed on my hands, alright?" My words spill out much hotter and faster than I'd meant for them to, spewing my rage across the room at her.

Jade's eyes widen ever so slightly and she backs away a few steps, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Jesus," she mutters. "Just a question." She turns and heads back into the main room. Once she's good and distracted with making herself another cup of coffee, I work to pluck my wallet out of my back pocket, holding it in my hand as I wait for her to be done. She finally finishes stirring in her cream and sugar and retreats back to her corner by the heater, where she's arranged a couple of pillows around her peacoat like a sort of nest. She snuggles in, sipping her coffee while I find a seat on the foot of the bed.

"How was your beer?" she asks without meeting my eyes. I can tell she doesn't really care; that she's just asking because she feels obligated to do so.

"I didn't get one," I say.

"You go to Duane Reade, get some more shit for your hand?" She gestures with her coffee cup. "Looks like you're gonna need it."

"No, I didn't."

She finally looks up at me, clearly a little confused. "Where've you been, then?"

She doesn't need to ask; I can tell that she already knows.

"Beck?"

I hear the same little warble of fear that had made its first appearance when we were in the elevator earlier.

"Just had a few things I needed to do," I tell her. "Loose ends to tie up."

My wallet feels impossibly heavy in my hand.

"You're being rather curt." It's a statement, not a question. I glance over at her. She's looking up at me with her incredible eyes, trying to read me like she always used to be able to.

It's so familiar. Everything about her is so painfully recognizable. But  _she_  isn't.

"Beck."

The Jade that I knew and loved would never have done something like this to me.

"Come on."

I could fill countless pages with the words that are building up inside of me, threatening to spill over, and I'm terrified that she can see that; terrified that, somehow, she'll tap into the fact that I'm feeling every emotion that I know how to feel at the same time and it's overwhelming me to the point of feeling totally suffocated. But I don't explode like I so desperately want to. I rein myself in. I want to see if she'll open up to me on her own. So I just shrug. "I don't have a lot to say."

"You're lying," she says. She swivels around and sets her coffee on the windowsill, then turns back and crosses her arms, fixing me with one of her famous, icy glares. "Look, why did you come here?"

"Why'd you leave?" I shoot back.

"I got tired of California." Her reply is too quick, almost rehearsed. One thin, white hand reaches up to twirl in her hair. Something she only does when she's lying.

"That's all?" I ask. I'm not even trying to hide my skepticism now. I want her to hear it. I want her to consciously make the choice of whether to keep lying or to tell me the truth, and I'm praying to whatever God there is that she'll choose the latter.

She pauses, swallows hard like she's bracing herself against some invisible force. "Yes," she says slowly. "That's all."

"Really?!" I spit. I'd given her one last chance, and she'd completely blown it. My anger is undeniably back now, fanning itself into a heated flame. "If that's  _all,"_ I continue, snatching the sonogram picture from my wallet, "then what the hell is  _this?"_ I lean forward and wave it in front of her like a cape at a bull. "Cut the crap, Jade. I'm not fucking here for it."

Her face is full of nothing but shock and disbelief as her eyes focus on the picture in front of her. She snatches it from me, running a finger across it, as if to check to make sure it's real.

" _Where_ did you get this?!" she screeches.

As if she doesn't already fucking know.

"Quit playing games with me here, Jade! I was at your house, okay? That's where I went! Don't pretend like you didn't know that! And maybe going there was wrong, but what about this?" I point at the little picture she holds in her hand. "What the fuck is  _that?_ How could you  _keep_ something like that from me?"

"It didn't concern you," she says through gritted teeth.

"How the  _fuck_ do you figure that it 'didn't concern me'?" I demand.

Jade pauses to clear her throat and lay the photo neatly on the floor beside her. When she speaks again, it's in cool, measured tones that clearly convey that this is not a topic she's eager to talk about. "Because I knew how you'd acted when we'd had those scares before. Forgive me for not jumping at the chance to tell you that something we'd been absolutely terrified of actually did happen."

I feel like I can't breathe.

"I found out about two and a half months before I moved here," she begins. Her voice is detached, cold; this is a simple statement of facts, a timeline, with no need for any emotion at all. "I took a test when you were at work one day and hid it at the bottom of the trash can before you came home. And then we had that fight in the trailer that day, and I knew right then I couldn't tell you."

"Where is it?" I ask. "What did you do?"

"I didn't have it," she says flatly.

I swear to God, my heart stops. "What?"

"I. Didn't. Have. It." Her voice is cold; this is a simple statement of fact, without any semblance of emotion whatsoever.

"So, let me get this straight," I begin shakily. "You got knocked up- with  _my kid-_ didn't tell me, and- and now-"

"And now  _what,_ Beck?" She answers a little too quickly. I look up at her. Her gaze is fixed on some random point on the wall, her eyes refusing to meet mine. "We broke up. What did you think was going to happen? That you'd come out here and sweep me off my feet and we'd run off into the sunset together?"

"No, I just- goddammit, Jade, we need to at least talk about this-"

"No. I'm not discussing this anymore." Her arms cross over her chest, her jaw setting itself into a firm line. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm tired, okay? I want to take a nap like I was doing before you barged in here and started your little interrogation." She flicks her fingers as if to shoo me away. "You can come back in an hour or so and take me home."

Without really intending to, I get up. I just don't have the energy to fight her right now. Wordlessly, I slip the bottle of pills out of my pocket and set them on the bedside table. She hears the bottle clack against the wood and looks up to see what I've done, only to quickly avert her gaze, as if seeing the pills is too much for her to bear.

I fold my wallet back into my pocket, grab my keys and phone and head for the door. On my way out, I almost tell her I love her, but I stop myself.

I don't love her.

I don't even know who she is anymore.

* * *

**Author's Note**

You guys are seriously the absolute best readers in the world. Even when I take forever to update, you're always here reminding me how much you love the story, and it means so much to me. I've finally got the entire story completely outlined, and I will be finishing it over the next few months. :) With that being said, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Reviews are welcome and appreciated!


	23. Entreat

Without really taking the time to think about it, I head back down to the lobby, deciding not to risk the stairs again and taking the elevator instead. There’s a bellhop with a room service cart already inside, and he opens his mouth like he’s going to greet me, but he closes it without a word once he sees my face. I smack the button for the lobby and tuck myself into the opposite corner of the elevator. The bellhop busies himself with rearranging the already perfectly stacked platters on his cart, clearly taking care not to make eye contact with me again. Fucker. Still, I don’t speak, either, leaning against the mirrored wall and watching the floors click by.

 

Somewhere in the next few floors he rushes out, hurrying away so quickly he accidentally runs over my foot with one of the wheels on his cart. I insistently press the door close button as soon as he's gone, not wanting to chance another companion joining me and making it take even more time to get downstairs.

 

At long last, the elevator dings into the lobby, and I'm turning sideways to skitter my way out of it before the doors are even completely open.

 

I’m halfway out the front door, before I realize that I have absolutely nowhere to go.

 

I mutter an apology to the tour guide I'd clipped with my shoulder as I'd barged outside and curse to myself under my breath. I turn back inside, ignoring the stares of the other guests I'd just passed only moments ago, and shuffle over to one of the armchairs set up by the window. Dropping into it, I pull out my phone to call--

 

Well, shit.

 

I had been thinking I might call Robbie, but on second thought, that might not be the best idea-- if Cat’s around, she’s going to bombard me with questions, and as much as I'd like to see her, I feel so weary that I don’t think I have the energy to deal with her effervescence right now, even well-intentioned as it's sure to be. Besides, I doubt that either of them will be able to shed any more light on the situation than they already have.

 

That in mind, I punch in Andre’s number and close my eyes while I wait for him to answer.

 

It rings many more times than I think is necessary, and I’m about to hang up and just leave, just fucking go somewhere, _anywhere,_ when the line picks up with a click.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Andre,” I say, letting out a breath. “Hey.”

 

“Hey, man, how goes it?”

 

I chuckle to myself, looking down at my scraped and battered hand. “Oh, you know. Worse than you could possibly imagine.”

 

“You’re not giving up, are you?” He asks sharply. I frown, taken aback by the sudden hardness in his tone. “Because I told you, Beck, you gotta find her. You said you were gonna find her--”

 

“Andre,” I interrupt, cutting him off before he can really start to tear into me. “Stop, okay? I found her.”

 

“You _did?”_ he practically shrieks. I wince, pulling the phone away from my ear and turning the volume down a few clicks. “What happened? Is she okay?”

 

“Yes, I did,” I sigh. Maybe Robbie and Cat would’ve been a better option after all. “I don’t know what happened. I found her at the top of the Empire State Building, freezing her ass off. I don't know what made me think to look there, but that's where she was. I managed to talk her into leaving with me. I brought her back to my hotel and she’s upstairs taking a nap right now, but she-- she looks like hell, she’s so small and she looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks and god only knows how long she'd been up there before I found her-- and-- and not only that, but when I-- I found something when I went to her apartment.” All of my words seem to come blurting out at once, tumbling over each other so fast that I’m sure I’m hardly making any sense. “I found something and I don’t know what the fuck to do, I just-- can I come over? Or can you come meet me? I don't know what to do. She wants me to take her home in like an hour and I-- I don’t know if I can do that, I don’t know if I can even face her long enough to do that.”

 

“Bro, bro, you gotta calm down,” he tells me, his tone much more serious than it had been a minute ago. “What do you mean, you found something?”

 

I pause, closing my eyes. When I do, my mind is flooded with the little black and white sonogram, the only evidence of the potential future that Jade and I might have had together. I can feel my eyes burning with tears and I’m quiet for a moment until he speaks again. “Beck.”

 

“Wh-what?”

 

“I asked you a question,” he says impatiently. “What do you mean, you _found_ something?”

 

“I can’t talk about it,” I choke out, trying in vain not to sniffle and give away that I’m crying. “Not like this, at least. It doesn't feel right and I--” my voice breaks. Goddamn it. “I just really need your help, Andre, please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't really important.”

 

There's a long pause. I would've thought I'd dropped the call if I hadn't been able to hear him breathing on the other end of the line. I hang my head, busying myself with toying with a button on the plush arm of the chair while I wait for him to respond.

 

“You sure you should leave her?” he says finally. “You could get back and she could be gone. And then you'd be right back where you started.”

 

I sigh. Even though I'd done that very thing earlier, I don't feel like I can do it again. My mind sears with the mental image of Jade's shoulder blades poking through her coat like wings, ready to carry her away from me again.

 

He's right. I can't leave her.

 

“I didn't think about that,” I admit. “But I don't know what else to do.”

 

“Why don't I pick up a couple lattes and I'll come and meet you?”

 

I let out a long breath, wiping a few stray tears from my cheek. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 

“Cool. The Grisham in Midtown, right?”

 

“Yeah.” I feel like I'm saying that a lot, but there really isn't anything else to say.

 

“Alright. Give me about twenty minutes.”

 

* * *

**Author's Note**

 

I'm still here. Fingers crossed some of you are, too.

 

 

 


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